I don’t know about you, but chances are fair to middlin’ at least some folks developed at least one or two false impressions about you (or your business) at some time in your life, right? Hey, it happens. Sometimes folks just flat out misunderstand what you said – or meant – or did – and the lines of communication get all snarled up like a fishing reel that’s gone haywire.

Hey, it’s bad enough when your customers get the wrong impression of you or your business. At least when you have a relationship with your customers, you might (at least, hopefully) get the chance to explain.

But what about when your customers give others the wrong impression? What the heck can you do then?

Bus Driver for Hire

Back when I was a starving student at Texas A&M, for spending money I drove shuttle buses around the campus. I’ll tell ya; that was one great job: flexible hours, good pay, and when you got right down to it, pretty easy work.

Probably the hardest part of the job was navigating through the sometimes narrow streets on campus. Generally speaking, that wasn’t too bad a problem – unless, of course, some bonehead parked their car where it shouldn’t have been. Many’s the time I wished we had a handy, er, dozer blade on the front of the bus. But I digress.

Anyway, one day my supervisor asked some of us if we wanted to earn a little extra income by working on an upcoming Saturday. Naturally we all perked up at that – until, that is, we heard what the job actually was. The task, he told us, was to drive the local Jewish elementary school’s children (about 200 or so of the little darlings) from College Station to downtown Houston. Turns out they had arranged a special showing of the stage version of Fiddler on the Roof for the kids, and the best way to get ‘em all there was using our buses.

Well, let’s see… on the one hand, the mental image of driving to Houston with 50 or so screaming elementary kids on my bus for approximately 3 hours – each way – was, well, a mite daunting. (For those of you familiar with the drive, what would normally take a little more than an hour-and-a-half or so would take at least twice as long for this trip because rules required us to drive no faster than 50 miles per hour.) Still, after due consideration, the lure of that extra spending money convinced four of us to finally throw caution to the winds and say, What the hey!

What’s This Got to Do with Beer?

By now you’re probably wondering just what the heck this image of assorted beer bottles has to do with this story. Hey, I’m glad you asked! The fact is, whenever I remember this particular day, it’s the only thing I can think of.

That’s because, for the entire 3-hour drive from College Station to Houston – and then again for the entire drive back – the kids sang what I consider to be the Worlds Stupidest Song: “99 Bottles of Beer”! Just in case you’ve lived under a rock your entire life and have never heard it (congratulations!), it goes like this:

99 bottles of beer on the wall,

99 bottles of beer –

You take one down,

And pass it around -

98 bottles of beer on the wall!

98 bottles of beer on the wall,

98 bottles of beer –

You take one down,

And pass it around –

97 bottles of beer on the wall!

97 bottles of –

Well, you get the picture, right? No kidding, y’all; they sang the entire stupid song down from 99 bottles to 1 – and then started over again. And again. And… again. I’ll tell ya; by the time we arrived at the Music Hall in downtown Houston, I was sorely tempted to let ‘em out – and then leave ‘em all there! Yeesh!

While the kids were inside watching the show, we four drivers found a coffee shop to hang out in. As I sat there, silently contemplating the trip back (with no small amount of dread), one of the other drivers finally broke the silence and asked, “Did your kids… uh, sing any songs on your bus?”

That was when the awful truth was revealed: it wasn’t just my group, but all of ‘em were singing that stupid song! What gives with that, we wondered. Just what the heck were they teaching those kids at that school, anyway?

Getting the Wrong Idea

After about 3.5 nanoseconds, though, I realized it wasn’t really the school’s fault their elementary-aged kids seem to have a fixation on, well, beer. Hey, kids are kids; they’ll do all kinds of things you won’t expect. Nature of the, er, beasts, if you follow me. And I reflected a moment or two on how easy it was to think of the school as bein’ the problem.

It’s really funny sometimes just what kind of impression your customers give of you, isn’t it? I mean, when you get right down to it, that’s something you really don’t have too much control over. Oh, sure; you can do your best to influence, mitigate, or even try to direct the conversation – but when you get right down to it, they’re pretty much gonna do what they’re gonna do.

If you were the principal of this particular school and just read this story, what would you be thinking along about now?

So the question is, how do you handle it when folks get the wrong idea about your business. Or even worse – what if the wrong impression is all about you?

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This is my entry for this month’s “What I Learned From Children” groupwrite project. Hey, you’re welcome to join us – all you have to do is follow this cute little link and read all about it!

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Ever had the feeling you were bein’ followed? It’s kinda spooky, ain’t it?

Not too long ago, Mrs. MZM and I decided to get out and enjoy the unusually pleasant Fall weather. (I use the word “unusual” because here in the Houston area, we typically have only two seasons: eleven sultry months of Summer followed by a month or so of cold, wet, yucky Winter.)

This particular day, though, was bright and clear, perhaps mid-80′s or so, with a nice, gentle breeze. It was perfect for taking time off to smell the flowers, if you get my meanin’. So we decided to go to a nearby park and see what there was to see.

This particular park happened to be built along a canal that wandered along for about a mile or so. After a few minutes, we decided to follow the sidewalk along the water. I’m tellin’ ya; it was a beautiful day, I had my Honey on my arm, and there was nowhere else I had to be. I mean, how perfect was that?

As we strolled along the waterway, enjoying the gentle warm sunshine, the delicious smell of pine trees, and the silly antics of an occasional duck or goose, I happened to glance down at the water at my feet. It was a surprising sight, to say the least: dozens of these tiny little fish were following us!

It seemed pretty funny, you know? I mean, it’s not like it was a school of piranha or anything. They’re just little fish, lookin’ for a handout. I imagine a fair percentage of folks who walk along this canal toss breadcrumbs or whatever into the water on a regular basis. So to them, any motion along the edges of their long, watery world spelled opportunity.

Unfortunately for them, though, we had nothing to give, so we just walked on. I’ll tell’ ya; I gotta give those little guys credit for persistence! They must’ve followed us for at least twenty minutes before finally giving up and heading for greener, uh, waters.

It reminded me, though, of the fact that while there’s opportunity all around us, sometimes it takes persistence to reap the benefits, y’know? (Not that it paid off for them that day, mind you, but they at least went with the odds.) So let’s take a lesson from my fine fishy friends (and I’m speakin’ to myself as well):

Keep on pluggin’ away, ’cause persistence can make all the difference!

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You work and you work to accomplish the things you want, right? Twiddle this, jiggle that, make sure those things happen in the right order; it’s just life, y’know?

Experience, though, has taught me that, generally speaking, there’s at least one thing more you’re probably gonna need: patience!

All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go

Our return from Brazil was an exercise in mechanics. We packed up our suitcases, checked out of our hotel, ate a great breakfast, and loaded up the bus. It was time once again to head to the airport and board that big silver bird.

We were nearly the first to arrive at the terminal that morning, and so we very nearly had the entire ticketing area to ourselves. Checking in was the usual semi-controlled chaos; in spite of that it went relatively smoothly. Eventually we finally made it past ticketing and baggage check and headed for the boarding area and gate number 5.

As I approached, though, there was just one little problem. I looked out the window and – there was no plane!

My brain did a quick mental reboot as I considered the various and sundry ramifications of the situation. I mean, we’d done everything we were supposed to do, right? Tickets, luggage, boarding passes – check, check, check. It’s just that, without a plane it was all just an exercise, y’know? Sorta like a fire drill.

It’s All in the Timing

‘Course, once the initial surprise passed, I realized it wasn’t really a problem. We were just a little early, that’s all, and the plane simply hadn’t arrived yet. Still… until I saw our winged chariot waiting there for us, there was always that little niggling concern scratching away at the ol’ subconscious. What if it’s not coming? What if it’s late? What if – well, the list of worries could go on and on, couldn’t it?

The issue, you see, was in the timing. We’d done everything we were supposed to do. But now – ah, now it was out of our hands. The only thing we needed now was a little patience.

Not a bad lesson for life, wouldn’t you say? Sometimes we get so involved in getting things done we forget that not everything is under our direct control, y’know? You might as well face it: there’s times you simply have to wait for that thing you expect to happen… to happen.

The lesson, of course, is simple – have a little patience, friends! Do what you gotta do – but don’t forget to bring along that big ol’ bucket o’ patience. Chances are, you’re gonna need it.

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“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

As most of you know, it is indeed possible to find treasure in the most unexpected places. Especially when you’re willing to take the time to really look.

One Man’s Trash

Quite a few years ago Mrs. MZM and I temporarily moved to Kalamazoo, Michigan so I could take an engineering job in a chemical plant for a few months. Since we knew we’d be there only a short time (maybe 6 months? who knew?), we decided to keep the apartment furnishings to a minimum. I mean, why spend money we’d never get back, y’know?

Anyway, after moving in, we drove around town, just sorta getting’ the lay of the land, so to speak. Suddenly Mrs. MZM pointed off to the right and said, “Pull up over there!”. I immediately executed a tire-screeching Bat-Turn safe, totally legal and non-life-threatening u-turn to the indicated spot.

Right in front of us was a large dumpster. I looked at her in disbelief and thought to myself, surely she couldn’t mean–?

But I was wrong.

Years ago I knew a guy who rode a trash collection truck to earn money for college. He used to regale us with tales of the many treasures he found every day – bowling balls, stacks of records (you remember vinyl LP records, don’t you?), perfectly good clothes of all sorts – you name it. I was always amazed at what folks will throw away, y’know?

Well, memories of that fellow came back to me now as I realized Mrs. MZM wanted me to take a look at something in that dumpster. Now, had I still been a kid, I’d have no problem, y’know? But hey, I’m an adult now! Adults don’t do this sort of thing! (Besides, it was probably filled with all manner of icky stuff, not to mention little creepy crawly critters, to boot!)

All this and more scampered briefly through my brain as I climbed out of the car and approached the rusty metal behemoth. It was one of those enclosed types with a partially opened sliding door in its side. That’s where Mrs. MZM pointed. “There’s a lamp shade right there close to that opening. Just reach in and grab it – let’s see what it looks like.”

Poised to make a quick getaway (just in case a rat, a snake, or y’know, a slime-covered tentacle reached for me), I tremulously latched onto the aforementioned shade and gave an admittedly hesitant little pull. It didn’t budge. I tried again, a little bit harder this time, and felt it give a bit. Finally I took a deep breath, threw caution to the winds, and grabbed it with both hands. Exerting a mighty heave, I stumbled backwards with my hard-won prize and was rewarded with – an entire lamp!

Another Man’s Treasure

And wow, what a treasure! Well, it’s not that it turned out to be genuine Waterford crystal or anything, but it certainly was pretty. I was astonished somebody would throw away a perfectly good and serviceable lamp like that. (And yes, it worked perfectly!)

As I returned to the car with my loot, Mrs. MZM couldn’t help the lightly smug “I told you so” expression, and rightly so. Our little treasure turned out to be far better than either of us had expected.

Funny how that saying can be so true, isn’t it: One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Over the years, I’ve encountered countless instances just like this of how a piece of junk turned into something wonderful. In fact, we have a perfectly good antique clock on our shelf to prove it. Sometimes you have to clean things up a bit – but sometimes not.

To tell you the truth, the only difference between an object’s being trash or treasure is not necessarily in where you find it. Nope; it’s in how you look at it. So it sorta begs the question, doesn’t it?

What surprising little treasures have you been missing because you haven’t taken the time to really look?

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“You need to get rid of that baggage,” meaning let go of the past, or it’s time to pick yourself up and move on.

I know, I know; the term baggage is almost always used in a emotionally negative way, isn’t it? I’ve heard it often enough; maybe even said the words myself once or twice.

But is baggage always bad?

The Baggage Handler

It’s an off-the-wall thought, I know, but one that hit me (sound of dull thud) while sitting on the tarmac in Rio de Janeiro. (Well actually, I was sitting in a plane on the tarmac, not actually on the tarmac. Oh, never mind.)

I idly passed the time watching a baggage handler toss our luggage one piece at a time onto that conveyor-thingie, its slowly moving belt feeding them into the plane’s storage compartment below us like offerings to a hungry beast. How many pieces did that guy toss in an average day? Hundreds? Thousands? Sheesh, my back started achin’ just thinkin’ about it; especially if they all weighed as much as mine did!

Anyhoo – like I said, getting rid of emotional baggage is generally considered to be a good thing, right? I mean, if you spend your days moping about “what might have been”, well, you can build up a heavy load for yourself in no time at all. And pretty soon your back is achin’ with the effort of carryin’ all that stuff around with you wherever you go.

That’s why the idea of a Fresh Start is so appealing. If you can just unload all those old regrets and “what if’s”, well life gets so much easier.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

On the other hand… is all baggage necessarily bad? Maybe not. In fact, definitely not. The fact is, you can always turn at least some of that emotional baggage into something valuable by learning something from it. Yep; don’t just throw it out like garbage – take the time to identify what happened, why it happened, and how you can profit from it. Maybe – just maybe – there’s some value in what you’ve been through. That’s the sort of baggage you’re gonna need for later.

After all, I can’t imagine taking even a short trip without an overnight bag containing at least a few necessary things, such as a toothbrush, shampoo, or maybe an extra pair of those unmentionable things we won’t mention. (Besides, these days they look at you suspiciously if you’re not carrying something. Signs of the times, I’m afraid.) Experience has taught me what to leave behind and what to bring every time. And all that stuff becomes part of my baggage – necessary baggage I can’t function without.

So next time you contemplate getting rid of some emotional baggage (and who doesn’t have at least one or two pieces?), make sure you don’t throw the baby out with the bath, if you get my meanin’. Go ahead and get rid of the stuff that needs to go, but take the time to analyze it first, so you can hang on for dear life to the stuff you’re gonna need.

And have a great trip!

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GEORGE: You know what the three most exciting sounds in the world are?

UNCLE BILLY: Uh-huh. Breakfast is served; lunch is served; dinner . . .

GEORGE: No, no, no, no! Anchor chains, plane motors, and train whistles.

- From It’s a Wonderful Life

I’ll tell ya; I gotta agree with ol’ George Bailey; there really are certain sounds that tweak my imagination and, yes, even my excitement, y’know?

It’s like last November on the return from my trip to Brazil. As the plane lined itself up on runway zero-six to launch us into the wild blue yonder (which I believe is the third blue yonder on the left), I couldn’t help but experience a remarkable dichotomy of feelings.

On the one hand, it was a kinda sad moment because it marked the close of a truly amazing experience – going to a small town in Brazil to help build a church. What’s more, not only was it something I’d never done before, but it was one of the most gratifying events of my life. And so I was understandably kinda sad as it was ending, if you follow me.

But on the other hand, it was good to be heading home. After 10 days away, it would be wonderful to be back in the sweet and tender arms of my lifelong love, the incredible Mrs. MZM. I’ll tell ya, because of my work, over the years we’ve had some times apart – some of ‘em long and some of ‘em short. But no matter how strange, or fun, or interesting the place turned out to be, it was always great to get back to the ol’ homestead and start life over again. It’s almost like a new beginning, in a way.

Funny how that runway could signify both things equally: a beginning and an ending. And come to think of it, it’s almost the same every time New Year’s Day rolls around, isn’t it? There you are at the moment, the cusp, the hinge between the old year and the new, sayin’ “so long” to all things past while simultaneously sayin’ “howdy” to the things to come.

Yep; a new beginning, a timely ending. That’s about the size of it, all right. Not that things from the past don’t carry over, mind you. It’s that sense of starting fresh, and new, and – well, it’s something we all like to celebrate, isn’t it? And rightly so, if you ask me.

So take a moment with me to wave your hat at the things accomplished and the things left behind, won’t you? After all, you can’t do anything about the past, now, can ya?

OK, now turn and put your best face forward, Bubba, ’cause I’m tellin’ ya; judgin’ from the way the last year went, I think we’re in for one heckuva ride!

YEEHAW!

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Sometimes the urge to say what’s on my mind can get me into big trouble.

- Likely epitaph for Robert Hruzek

(hopefully a long time from now!)

OK, for those of you who’ve spent any time at all here at the Zone, that statement above will come as no surprise whatsoever. The trouble, though, is that knowin’ that little datum doesn’t always prevent me from, well, saying stuff anyway.

See, the thing is, what with this brand spankin’ new year and all, I really racked the ol’ brain to come up with a post that would sorta capture the essence, the nub of the gist, the je ne se quois for 2010. (In case you don’t know, je ne se quois is French for “duh”.) And finally it hit me (sound of dull thud) – this year, it’s gonna be all about words.

Therefore, I’m declaring the year 2010 to be the Year of the Words. An attorney friend of mine keeps reminding me, “words are important” (a heckuva understatement if there ever was one), so this first post of the year is going to be all about, well, carefully considering everything you say.

And trust me; this is experience talkin’.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s Summer Camp

Never was the importance of thinking about your words more true than one time back in 1978, when I was a counselor at a children’s summer camp deep in the woods of East Texas, smack in the middle of Huntsville State Park.

The way this camp worked, see, is parents would drop off their kids each Sunday afternoon (about 125 or so boys and girls, aged 8-12), then pick ‘em up again the following Saturday morning. Then this process was repeated with a different set of families for seven weeks in a row.

So far as I know, we always had the same number of pickups as drop-offs, so I guess in the large scheme of things you would consider our efforts a success. Still, every week produced its own set of unusual “situations” that had to be dealt with, plus a few challenges that spanned the entire summer.

One of those “all summer long” challenges, for instance, centered around breakfast, of all things. See, every morning we trooped our campers into the dining hall for their morning supply of energy. With the full days we routinely planned for the kids, their energetic little bodies needed to be well loaded with fuel. And what a breakfast it was!

Every morning’s menu was different. One day it was a selection of cold cereals, milk (plain and chocolate), about a billion kinds of muffins, assorted juices, etc. Another day it was scrambled eggs, bacon and assorted toast (including my favorite: cinnamon raisin bread).

Best of all, the food was, like, amazingly good, too, and there was always plenty for all. No one ever left the breakfast table hungry, that’s for sure. I’ll tell ya; those sweet ladies who cooked for us every day really outdid themselves.

Except, that is, on Wednesdays. See, on Wednesdays we had (sound of terrified scream) oatmeal.

Wednesday’s Child is Full of Woe

Now, I just want to go on record as sayin’ I personally have nothing – nothing against a big ol’ steamin’ bowl of oatmeal! Especially when topped by a thick pat of rich butter, maybe a little brown sugar, and a handful of fresh blueberries. I’ll tell ya; that’s something that really hits the spot with little ol’ me!

The problem, as it turned out, was an incident that had happened several years before. See, the thing was… well, they sorta accidentally, um, burned the oatmeal. Oh, not so you could tell by lookin’ at it, mind you. But when tasted, you could tell it was definitely “off spec”, if you follow me.

I don’t know about you, friends, but if you’ve never had the, er, joy of slapping a spoonful of burned oatmeal onto your taste buds, well Bubba, you simply ain’t lived! It sorta brings to mind that horrible, acrid smell of popcorn that’s been overcooked and burned by a microwave oven. You know how that awful odor kinda lingers in the air… well, it ain’t something you’ll ever forget, that’s for sure.

Nothing Travels Faster Than a Rumor

The thing was, quite a few of these kids had attended camp year after year, with the inevitable result that word had gotten out about the infamous Day They Burned The Oatmeal. So by the time Wednesday rolled around, well, you can guess can’t ya? Yup; even though it had happened several years previously (and had never happened since) the very sight of a big ol’ bowl of oatmeal on the breakfast table was enough to cause every kid in the building to run screaming into the woods.

To be sure, we heroically tried everything to head it off at the pass, so to speak. The staff heaped our own bowls with gobs of oatmeal, loading ‘em up with as many tasty extras as we could find. We loudly proclaimed the virtues of the stuff. One guy tried lathering his with gummi bears, but alas, to no avail. We even tried contests and other incentives. Alas, it was all for naught. It seemed nothing could overcome the dire tales of disaster and woe already passed down to the younger children by The Grapevine.

I mean, it was bad enough the kids had blown this thing all out of whack. But the stories! By then they’d pretty much reached, well, epic proportions. “Whatever you do, don’t eat the oatmeal,” they’d say. “It’ll make you grow a third eye right in the middle of your forehead!” Or, “Don’t eat the oatmeal; you’ll never ever have children.” (That one was for the girls.) And then there was my personal favorite: “Don’t eat the oatmeal, it’ll turn you into a blood-sucking zombie!”

But even more serious, since there was always so much oatmeal left over, it caused the cooks to waste perfectly good food. (You’d think they would’ve taken the hint and prepared less – but I guess hope always springs eternal, y’know?) Leftover food was definitely not a good thing, though. As with any camp, money – and the wise use thereof – was always a primary issue.

Lightning Storms on the Brain

Finally, the Camp Director had had enough. Determined to resolve the situation once and for all, he called for a Council of War later that evening after all the kids had gone to bed and settled down for the night. We left our Assistants in charge of the various cabins and gathered in the dining hall with the Director and the cooks.

“OK, you all know the problem,” he began without preamble. “Let’s brainstorm some ideas on how to solve it.”

Within minutes, quite a few ideas had been proposed. The most popular was kinda obvious: serve something else. Unfortunately this simply wouldn’t do – for a couple of reasons. First of all, the food for the entire summer had already been purchased. There were no funds for an alternative breakfast; somehow they would just have to make do.

Another idea was disguise it with more toppings – more fruit; more sugar, M&M’s, snails, whatever. Unfortunately, that one wasn’t working too well. No amount of fruit could hide the fact that it was, y’know oatmeal, and too much sugar was, well, pretty unhealthy, to say the least. As for the M&M’s and snails… well, never mind.

After about 20 minutes, we managed to narrow it down to two possibilities: One was, call the kids’ homes and have their parents make the kids eat it. Unfortunately, there were too many parents to easily reach, and cell phones hadn’t yet been invented. So scratch that one as too impractical. Besides, we kinda wanted to handle this one internally, if you know what I mean.

The other idea was to find a way to stop those ridiculous stories. To which the following question then applies: Have you ever tried to stop a rumor?

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

Yep; that’s about the size of it. Here we were, the best and brightest of the entire camp organization (at least, we liked to think so), and this was the best we could do. Pretty sad, I’ll tell ya. Nevertheless, we all decided there might be some merit in that last suggestion, so we concentrated on it for a while.

As I heard idea after idea (not to mention some pretty profound silences), that’s when it began to happen – the apparent gravity of the situation seemed to give rise within me to say something silly, just to lighten the mood. Now please understand, this was serious; it was a genuine problem that needed a genuine solution, no mistake about it. But I just couldn’t help it – inside I was doing my best to stifle the ingrown chuckle that was steadily sneaking up on me. There we were, wrestling with the ramifications of serving oatmeal for breakfast. I mean, fer cryin’ out loud!

But I knew; if I were to say the thing that was desperately trying to break out into the light of day, it would not only ruin what little headway we’d made, but it might possibly irritate the Director or, even worse, the cooks. And believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was get them mad at me!

Still, it kept on building up inside me, ready to burst out into the open like a grape in a microwave. I squirmed and squiggled, got up and then sat down again, tried to count to 100 backwards, but alas, nothing helped. Finally, as everyone else was in the midst of trying to figure out ways to keep those stupid stories from spreading around, and I couldn’t stand it anymore and the following fateful words escaped my lips:

“Well, you could always threaten to glue their mouths shut with the oatmeal!”

I’m tellin’ ya; you could probably have dropped a live hand grenade – without the pin – in our midst with less effect. There was at least a full minute of shocked silence while everyone sorta looked up, then down, then pretty much everywhere except at me. The Director had a stunned look on his face, then quickly turned to look at the cooks to see what their reaction would be.

I think everyone sorta “braced for impact” as we awaited the Head Cook’s no-doubt righteously indignant reaction. And I distinctly remember thinkin’ to myself, “Self, we’re a long way from civilization; I wonder if they’ll ever find my body?”

Great Moments in History

For a moment, all she could do was stare at me with wide-eyed incredulous disbelief. Inwardly, I cringed, waiting for the boom to be lowered upon my unprotected head. But then… a miracle!

She suddenly put her head back and began laughing so loud, and so hard, she very nearly fell off the stool! You’ve heard of folks laughing with their entire body, right? Well, she did that, and before long every one of us was rolling on the floor with gales of laughter I’d swear (if my Momma hadn’t taught me not to) you could’ve heard in Dallas!

It was one of those genuinely memorable moments, y’know? We all laughed, tears in our eyes, for about 15 minutes until finally the Director raised his hands for silence. “You know what?” he told us. “I was reading in my Bible this morning from Proverbs, and I saw something that definitely applies here.” He opened his Bible up to chapter 11, verse 14 and read this verse: “Where there is no counsel, the people fall; but in the multitude of counselors there is safety.”

“I want to thank you for coming tonight to help us resolve this unusual and strangely thorny challenge we’re facing. Although I’m not sure we’ve quite solved it yet, it gives me great comfort to know that with the multitude of Counselors we have here tonight,” – and here he looked straight at me, and with a big smile, no less – “well, it’s good to know you guys are on the case!”

The Proof is in the Pudding Oatmeal

To tell you the truth, although I can’t remember if we ever did solve that “thorny little problem”, I look back on that event with a great deal of nostalgia. Besides, for the rest of that summer we were stuck with the oatmeal anyway, so what the hey, right? The cooks continued to serve oatmeal every Wednesday and, at least as far as I know, nobody turned into a zombie or grew another eye or anything.

That was the last summer I spent as a Counselor (no, I wasn’t barred from returning, smarty pants; I just got too busy after that), so I don’t know if they still serve oatmeal on occasion. My guess? Probably not. Sometimes ya just gotta bow to the inevitable, y’know?

But as I look back on that memory, I still can’t believe I said what I did. I mean, c’mon! What if those fine ladies who slaved over a hot stove all day to feed us incredible food had been angry instead of tickled by what I’d said? What if the Director hadn’t been the kind-hearted understanding fellow he was? What if my careless words had hurt some feelings? It was a risky thing I’d done, and to tell you the truth, I hadn’t really thought it through.

Still, I like to think I’ve matured a bit since that day, y’know? After all, not every situation can be rescued with laughter – nor is it appropriate to do so. Oh, with enough time and distance humor may come to the fore anyway. But that’s not always the case as a given situation is happening.

I admit it; I was pretty lucky that day. If the other folks hadn’t been who they were, things might have turned out very differently. Come to think of it, they might not have ever found my body! My name would have become the stuff of legends, whispered around campfires as yours truly, The Wandering Dutchman of Summer Camp, would still be wandering around that lonely, isolated camp on damp misty nights, forever doomed to search for that elusive perfect bowl of oatmeal…

Anyhoo, this story and thought seemed like an appropriate one with which to begin this brand shiny new year, y’know? The lesson is this: Be aware of your words! After all, if you can’t learn that, you just might not make it to next year, if you get my meanin’! I’m just sayin’.

Happy New Year, y’all!

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