A couple of weeks ago I had the rare opportunity to browse our town’s GoodWill store by myself while Dirty Harry was at TaeKwonDo class and Jack Henry was napping at home with Bonny Annie keeping watch.  I’m so glad because I was feeling particularly insane that day and needed about thirty minutes of alone time, and I found a stack of vintage Little Golden books for $1 each.

I have been on a mission for a number of years to try to find and collect Little Golden books that I remember from my childhood.  Some have been reprinted, and I’ve been able to purchase a few of them new.  I’ve picked up several at yard sales and flea markets.  But this trip to the GoodWill store yielded a “gold” mine in late 70s childhood nostalgia.

Some of my fondest memories are wrapped up within the pages of my Little Golden books.  I remember they used to keep several titles near the check-outs at the grocery stores.  My mom would often buy me one if I was good in the store that day.  It’s a good thing I wasn’t often good in the stores, or I would have a lot more Little Golden books to try to recover now.

This one, a Richard Scarry, was one of my very favorites, and I think I might have screamed when I found it.

It was chockful of fun ideas and illustrations.  Like this page…

Now that I think about it, this page was probably the inspiration for that time in first grade that a friend of mine and I decided to illustrate the tops of our desks with markers.  The next day I had to take in a butter container filled with Comet and clean all the desks during recess.  Ahhhh…the memories!

I think this page probably has had some impact on me as well.  Yo ho!  Yo he!

In my stack of books, delightedly, I found a couple of Eloise Wilkin titles.  *Big sigh*  Eloise Wilkin…I just love her.

(And, no, I don’t mind at all that I can’t get that piece of tape off the cover without damaging the book.  It probably means that a child was playing library and stuck that on there to categorize his books.  As a former library-player, I recognize the handiwork and think it adds to the charm.)

Eloise Wilkin did artwork for many Little Goldens that were popular in the 60s and 70s.  Her pictures are charming and dreamy, depicting rosy-cheeked children and pastoral nature scenes.

I would jump in and live in an Eloise Wilkin painting if I could.

I think it is fun to share a little of my childhood with my own kids.

…to let them get a glimpse of a different, but not-so-distant time…

…a time where everyone had unnaturally ruddy cheeks, where it was okay to ride in a car that is being towed, where police officers tailgated military vehicles, and no one who was driving watched where they were going.

Oh, thank you, Josephine for passing on your Little Goldens to the local GoodWill store!  They have just tickled me “golden” to find them!

Related links:

The official Little Golden book site

The history of Little Golden books

Some history and information  on Eloise Wilkin

I love old pictures.  My grandmother had a large stash of old sepia prints, and I remember as a child begging her to get them out and let me look through them.  She wouldn’t comply that often, and that would frustrate me a bit.  Now, though, I understand her hesitation.  For one, the pictures were mostly of people in her life who had passed on, some in tragic and sudden ways.  Looking at the pictures was an emotional roller coaster for her.  Secondly, it was sort of a hassle to lug all those books and boxes out of their storage places.  And, finally, they were fragile.  The last thing she wanted was for my grubby little hands to damage a one-of-a-kind heirloom picture.  I totally get it now.

Now, my mom, Indiana Mimi, has most of those pictures, and she’s been bringing me some of the old pictures as she’s been sifting through them.  After all, my hands are decidedly less grubby these days.

One thing that I’ve realized as she’s brought me some of these photographs is that Jack Henry definitely looks like me.  See…

Jack Henry…

Me…

Very, very similar.  Right down to how our hair lays down on our foreheads.

But do you know who he really looks like?  Who could have been his twin?  My Uncle Larry, Indiana Mimi’s younger brother, who died in his early twenties.  I’ve always been told that Dirty Harry looks a lot like him too.  Most of the pictures I’ve seen of him were taken when he was a school boy or a teenager, and Dirty Harry definitely favors him.  But my mom recently brought me a picture of him when he was a toddler that made me gasp.  Check this out…

My uncle…

And Jack Henry…

Isn’t that amazing?  Even the curls are in the same places!  And the foreheads….I wish I had this picture when we went to see the neurologist last fall.

Yes, Grandma….I do understand now why you felt bittersweet over your photos because this whole trip down memory lane has made me wish so much that you could see and know Jack Henry.  I think you’d be quite proud that he looks so much like your own precious little boy.

Do you have any look-alikes in your family?  If you’re not sure, take some time to paw through those old trunks in your attic or those dusty shoeboxes in your closet.  I think you’ll find a fascinating exercise in genetics.

Once, a long time ago, Big D saved his older sister’s life.  I have heard this story many times over the years, but just recently came across a fun visual to go along with the story.

My sister and Indiana Mimi were on the phone, and for fun, were googling all of our names to see what came up.  Well, when they googled Big D’s name, they found this…

What you’re looking at is page 41 of Boy’s Life Magazine (a publication of the Boy Scouts of America), the February 1980 edition.  Big D vaguely remembered that this was printed but did not have a copy.  Big D’s mom is a little unsure if they ever had a copy of it since they were being transferred from overseas back to the States near the time of the publication.  So everyone had a lot of fun looking this over and remembering that eventful day.

I was unsuccessful at being able to copy the pictures, even though the page provides you with a copyable URL and an embed code, so being the technological wizard that I am, I simply photographed my computer screen.  The quality is probably a little off, but I think you get the general idea of what happened….

First, Amy’s (who is looking an awfully lot like Bonny Annie with short hair instead of her usual long, brown, straight self) poncho caught fire, which is strongly emphasized by the publication.

Then, Damon, using his Boy Scout instincts, went to help.

He successfully put out the fire by rolling her on the ground and beating the tar out of her…something every eight year-old boy dreams of being able to do to his older sister.

In the end, that cute kid was awarded the Medal of Merit.

Every time this story ever comes up, though, Amy always maintains that Big D kept thumping her long after the flames died away.  She always says it with a chuckle since, after all, she is still alive and not charred like a crisp piece of bacon.

Good job, Little Damon….er…I mean Big D!

Welcome to Flashback Friday!

It has been a great year.  A weird, busy, crazy, good year.

As many of you know, I had the above baby a little over a year ago.  He was a surprise from the very beginning.  We didn’t think we were having any more children.  Not that we didn’t want any more, but it just didn’t seem to be happening.  After having a miscarriage early in 2007, I just thought it was not to be.

But then the spring of 2008 brought the news that we were, without a shadow of a doubt, expecting a baby.  This time the pregnancy was healthy and made it past the first several weeks.  I was thirty-five years old.

Most of my pregnancy was wonderful.  I was healthy and energetic and because I was so busy all the time with the two older kids, it went by fairly quickly.

However, during the last trimester, I started having signs of pre-eclampsia again.  I had this with my first, Bonny Annie, twelve years earlier.  Generally, women only have this condition with a first pregnancy, but because I hadn’t been pregnant in eight years, my body apparently had forgotten my other two pregnancies.  I was already scheduled to have a c-section anyway, so my doctor just closely monitored my blood pressure and the baby’s growth, which can sometimes be stunted by this condition.  The baby was small, but he didn’t see any cause for alarm.

On November 19, 2008, we drove to the hospital to deliver our baby.  Jackson Henry was born around 8am, weighing five pounds, one and half ounces, and he was sixteen inches long.  He couldn’t breathe on his own or regulate his blood sugar.  Later that day we were told they thought he had an enlarged heart, an enlarged brain, and possibly some chromosomal issues.  He was placed in the NICU, and they began to run test after test.

It was the longest day of my life, and the start to the longest week of my life.

However, as the week progressed, so did our baby.  Almost every test they ran came back negative.  Jack Henry was small, but he was healthy and beautiful and strong.

Then on Thursday, November 27, 2008, Thanksgiving Day, we got to bring him home.

Yes, it has been a very great year. 

And yesterday, it got just a little bit better because I was officially announced as the winner of the Homeschool Blog Awards Funniest Blog for 2009!

I am overwhelmed.  Thank you so much to everyone who nominated and voted for me.  It is such an honor!  Make sure you click on the icon above and check out the winners for all the categories.  Some mighty fine blogs won, and I’ve had a lot of fun perusing them.

Back in October of 2000, Dirty Harry was five months old.  For Halloween that year I bought him the cutest, sweetest and hottest lion costume on the planet.  He absolutely hated it and swore that he’d never keep his room clean a day in his life for revenge on me.  And he has kept his word.  Oh people, has he kept his word!

Over the summer, when we were visiting Charleston, my sister Debbles pulled some Rubbermaid tubs full of boy clothes from her attic for me to look through.  Guess what I found?  Yep!  The dreaded lion costume!

Everyone says that the Cap’n and Dirty Harry look alike, and that is true.  However, there are some differences here.  First of all, Jack Henry is wearing the suit as an eleven month old, and while he has been accused of having a large head, it is apparently not as large as his brother’s at five months old because his face had a lot more room.  Secondly, once he got it on, Jack Henry actually liked being a lion.  Of course, that may have to do with the fact that it was in the 40s the day he wore it, rather than in the 80s when Harrison wore it.  All in all, I think this means that Jack Henry will always have a clean room, and don’t try to tell me otherwise.

Last Saturday we went to the annual Harvest Festival and Trunk-or-Treat at Regg’s farm.  This is Regg.

He’s Big D’s boss, and he’s giving us a hay ride.

Here’s the crew….

And no, I don’t know what Dirty Harry is doing with his face.  Perhaps the sight of the lion costume has triggered some long-buried negative emotions.  Or maybe he is lamenting that he is dressed as a Titan and they are now 0-6.  Or perhaps he’s just being goofy.  It’s hard to tell with that one.

Oh, alright….even though I loathe this picture, here’s one of me…

(Psst…Susan, can you see that Annaleigh is wearing her vest and gloves?  She looked so cute in them!)

We even took the little lion to the petting zoo.  Here’s he’s thinking, “Mmmmm…chicken!”

Ahhh….memories!  That suit is soooo cute that it makes me want to have another one to dress up.

Don’t hold your breath though.  I’m lion…er, I mean lyin’!

When I was in the 8th grade, I ran for Student Council president.  I was my homeroom’s representative and any 8th grader could run, so I did, against three of my friends.  There is a picture in my yearbook of the entire student council, but that would have involved rummaging in my attic, and at this time of year, would put me at risk of a brown recluse bite.  So I rummaged around on the computer, a much safer and less creepy activity, and found this picture from about the same time period.

My campaign slogan could have been:  Vote for Me….I’ll Bend Over Backward for You!  Or perhaps:  Vote for Kellie….Her Hair Blends Right in with the Floor!

Well, despite whatever efforts I put into the whole thing, I lost and I spent the rest of the year just being a measly student council rep.

The past couple of weeks have been a bit of deja vu for me because Bonny Annie has been waging a campaign to become the middle school representative for her home school tutorial.  It’s a little weird isn’t it that a home school tutorial would have a student government?  It’s fairly large for a tutorial (about 100 students from 6th-12th grades) and has other school-ish activities and offerings like yearbooks and proms and such.

So, anyway, she wanted to run, and all of the hurt and heartbreak of my own failed campaign came flooding back into my bruised psyche.  I immediately decided to live vicariously through my teen-aged daughter and win this time!

First, we busied ourselves with the poster angle.  The following were Bonny Annie’s creations based on her three-pronged message of EXPERIENCE, LEADERSHIP and SERVITUDE.

And here was my idea…

Is there any wonder that I failed at a political career?

Actually that poster was a big hit at the tutorial.  You can’t see it in the picture, but Annaleigh was offering a candy prize to anyone who could name the four historical, red-headed leaders.  Do you know who they are?  I’ll tell you at the end of this post.

Next, we offered little voting incentives…

Get it?  Pick me?  You know….’cause it’s a flower.

She also had to give a speech to the student body, which I didn’t get to hear.  I’ve been told it was good though.

As a last straw, I offered to bake chocolate chip cookies if she was elected.  In a desperate measure, I posted it to her facebook page.

After all this, Bonny Annie still didn’t think she would win.  Her reasoning was that out of the four who were running, there was just one boy.  She thought he’d naturally get most of the male vote, and then the three girls who were running were all friends and hung out with the same crowd and would split votes.  It sounded pretty logical to me.

*Sigh…*  It’s going to be just like my 8th grade election, I thought.  All of that hard work and dedication.  All of those promises.  All of my….I mean her…hopes, dreams plans.  All gone.  All dashed to pieces.   All the…

Except Bonny Annie won.  She is now the elected middle school representative of West Harpeth Christian Tutorial.

And I won’t need therapy after all.  And I have to bake six dozen cookies.

The red-headed leaders on the poster are Winston Churchill, Thomas Jefferson, Queen Elizabeth I, and Napolean.

A fellow student said to Annaleigh that they didn’t think Napolean was a very good example of a positive leader, and she retorted, “While he may have had some psychological issues, he was  a brilliant military strategist.”  So there you go.

Welcome to Flashback Friday!

When you live in Charleston, SC for any length of time, you get used to hurricanes.  They are a regular part of life there.  During August and September, you watch the weather religiously, make runs to the store for batteries, bread, peanut butter, bottled water, and duct tape, and get ready for a day…maybe two…off school or work.  Usually by the time the hurricane makes landfall, it has weakened to category 1 status, or more than likely been demoted to a tropical storm.  We would then just sit around, wait for the elevated storm to hit, watch TV until the power went out for an hour or two, and if it was night time, go to bed.  The next morning we’d get up and pick up what little bit of debris had blown into our yard, go find our trash cans that had blown a few houses away, eat the peanut butter and Cheetos, and go on with our lives.

When the weather people started tracking Hurricane Hugo in September of 1989, I was almost seventeen years old and had just started my senior year of high school.  I lived in Summerville, which was about thirty minutes inland from the coast of South Carolina.  And I pretty much ignored everything about their reports until they canceled school the day before it was to make landfall.  When I was finally forced to pay attention, I realized, along with everyone else that Hugo was pretty scary.  It was huge for one thing, and it had built up to a category 5 over the Atlantic ocean.  It was a monster, and it was out to eat Charleston alive.

My last experience with a hurricane of any consequence was Hurricane David, which hit Charleston in 1979.  While it wreaked havoc on the Dominican Republic, by the time it hit us, it was just a baby hurricane and only caused minimal damage.  But to an almost-seven year-old, it seemed pretty fierce…especially since our power went out for the night.  And especially since it marked the time I first saw a naked man.  My dad was on sea duty, and during hurricanes, all the ships had to head out to the ocean, since that’s safer for them than being docked.  Well, in the early evening hours, our shed in the backyard blew over, so my mom called our neighbor, Jim, who was home.  We all watched him run out into the pounding rain in his rubber boats and rain slicker to retrieve our shed, when all of sudden the wind caught the front of his coat, and we discovered that Jim had nothing on under said slicker.  The next thing I knew my mom was pushing me away from the window.  That’s about all I remember of Hurricane David.

So, on September 21, 1989, I just parked myself in front of the TV and worked myself into a frenzy all afternoon.  By nightfall when the wind started to pick up and the rain began to fall, I was pretty convinced that we were all going to die.

During the actual storm, I don’t remember a whole lot.  We had brought a mattress into our foyer area, which was the safest because it was the innermost part of our little duplex, and it was the furthest away from any windows.  I remember we had our radio, which was running on batteries by now, tuned to Q107, the only station that was still on the air.  I remember when it finally went fuzzy it felt like the world had ended.  I remember it was incredibly loud.  I thought that any moment the roof was going to peel off. 

I don’t remember how much time passed, but gradually it began to die down, and the eye was passing over.  It was eerily quiet.  We took our flashlights and went outside.  I think it was around midnight, but nearly the entire neighborhood was outside trying to see the damage.  We couldn’t see much, but there were branches everywhere.  Our old Dodge Aries, which we had prayed would have a tree land on it, was standing unharmed.

We went back inside to await the backside of the storm, which according to the meteorologists would probably be even stronger than the frontside.  The noise, which sounded like freight trains, started up again.  I fell asleep.

The next morning we couldn’t leave our neighborhood.  Huge trees had fallen and were blocking the main road out and in.  It wouldn’t be until the next day that we could drive anywhere.  We had no water, electricity or phone.

Our home was basically undamaged.  When we were finally able to leave, we cautiously drove around and were awed by the destruction.  It didn’t seem like the Charleston area could ever be the same. 

Cars were piled on top of one another in parking lots everywhere.

Sailboats fared even worse.

Beach houses were flattened.

Where I lived, most of the damage was from trees and the water that came in where the trees fell.  The damage all over the state was indescribable.

The next few weeks were interesting to say the least.

We had water after just a couple of days, but it was ice cold and smelled and tasted like pine.  The phones came on sometime within a week, and that made my nearly seventeen year-old heart sing.  We didn’t have power for about a week, but it seemed like a month.  I remember I was lying on our sofa reading when all of sudden our TV snapped on, and there was Oprah Winfrey.  I could have kissed Oprah right then.

I was out of school for about three weeks.  Our football field was damaged, and we didn’t have another home game that season.  Our homecoming game was played at a different school.  On a Tuesday night.

My mom and I both worked at a clothing store called Hamrick’s.  The front windows had been blown out during the storm and much of the merchandise ruined.  Mom and I went in and worked for a couple of days in water up to our ankles helping to inventory moldy, damp clothes.  It was the hardest, most unpleasant cash I’d ever earned.

Getting gas for the car and groceries was interesting.

I remember going with mom to wait in long, long gas lines.  All of the grocery stores lost power too, so much of the food was spoiling and had to be disposed of.  Mom knew a lady from work whose daughter was the manager of a McDonald’s, and she gave us a whole case of McRib sandwiches.  We had power by then, so we froze them and had those for a long time.  I remember once going with mom to stand in line for free milk.  I felt like a refugee.

At the time, as a self-centered, narcissistic teenager, I felt like my life was over and was very woe-is-me.  Now, as an adult, I’m glad for that experience.  I’m thankful for what it taught me.

I no longer live where hurricanes are a threat.  Yet every time that I hear one is nearing the coast or the gulf I watch with interest, and I pray for those who might be affected, who might lose their homes, their livelihood, their dignity.  I pray that they too would be better for the experience.  I hope they won’t be exposed to any mid-storm flashers.  And maybe….just maybe….they might score a case of McRibs.

 ***And don’t forget….it’s not too late to enter my contest!  It will run until 8pm central tonight.  Details here!***

Welcome to Flashback Friday!

With Bonny Annie recently turning thirteen, it has me feeling all nostalgic and sappy about her in general (except when she rolls her eyes at me, but that’s  another story altogether).  I stumbled upon some pictures of her when she first started dance classes at age three, and I realized that I had not documented her very last dance recital in May.

Yes, Bonny Annie has decided to hang up her toe shoes.  *Sigh*  She had gotten to a level, after ten years of dance  that the commitment level was going to be too much.  One and half hour classes three times a week, plus membership in the dance company which was an extra class once a week and performances, plus student teaching…..it was just going to be a lot for us if she wanted to also continue with TaeKwonDo and drama.  Not to mention her brother’s TKD classes and baseball!  And also not to mention that we have a baby!

I sort of hemmed and hawed about the whole thing.  I liked the whole girly aspect of ballet….the frilly costumes, the make-up, the bobby pins.  Well, maybe not the bobby pins.   ”But Mom, let’s face it.  I don’t want to be a professional dancer, and that would be the only point in continuing at this point,” she said to me.

She’s a sensible girl.

Now, let’s travel all the way back to the year 2000 and see where it all began…

The above photo was taken May 16, 2000, right after her last class of the year.  She was so proud of her first trophy (and it’s still sitting on her bedside table right now).  I’m so sure of the date because the next day I gave birth to her brother.

And a week later, we had her first recital….

I’m trying to look at the bright side in all of this:  there will be less bobby pins on my floor.

Today we’re not going back too far….to only 1998.  I was a young mother of a two year-old redhead living in balmy Charleston, SC.  I attended a MOPS group for a couple of hours every other Tuesday, and it was there that I met Teresa Pregnall, otherwise known as The Charleston Cake Lady.

Is she not the cutest little lavendar haired little lady you’ve ever laid eyes on?!

Mrs. Pregnall was the guest speaker at my MOPS group.  She talked to us about how she accidentally got into the mail-order cake business, how she was a guest once on the Today show (or it may have been Good Morning America…can’t quite remember), her former job on the board of Alumni Affairs at the College of Charleston, and most importantly, she talked about her cookbook and sold us some copies.

That book changed my life.  Before that I was intimidated by baking in general.  Sifting was an unknown territory.  Cake testers were frightening.  Flour was horrifying.  Rolling pins were…well, er…well, were…unspeakable terrors. (I still have issues with rolling pins!)  But Mrs. Pregnall’s baking methods were clear and concise.  She told us to not use low or non-fat ingredients for baking….they are cakes afterall…they are supposed to be fattening.  She gave us permission to start with cake mixes (doctored cake mixes were a new thing to me at the time).

I fell in love with the Charleston Cake Lady the first time I pulled an absolutely perfect Chocolate Chip Cake out of my rickety old oven, and my guests that night ooohhhed and aaaahhhed and devoured every crumb.  I never looked back, and I’ve baked with almost 100% success over half the items in her cookbook, Treasured Recipes from the Charleston Cake Lady, which is still available at Amazon.  (Just click the title to get to the link to buy new and used copies.)

In honor of this great lady, who passed away about a year ago, I’m sharing the recipe for the Chocolate Chip cake, which is easy, fun and delicious.  Here we go….

You will need:  1 box butter recipe golden cake mix, 1/3 c. granulated sugar, 8 oz. sour cream (NOT low-fat or nonfat!!!), 2/3 c. vegetable oil, 3 large eggs, 1 tsp pure vanilla extract, 1 pkg. (12 oz.) mini semisweet chocolate chips, and 1 container of chocolate frosting

Preheat your oven to 325.

Grease and flour a 12-cup Bundt pan (or just spray it with butter-flavored Pam).

That pan was my grandma’s, and even with the vanishing non-stick coating, with a thick coat of Pam, your cake will pop right out when it has cooled!

In a large mixing bowl, blend the cake mix, sugar, sour cream, and oil on low speed for 1 minute.

Add the eggs one at a time, blending well after each addition.  Increase the mixer speed to medium and beat for 4 minutes.  If you don’t have a stand mixer, it will feel like your arm is going to fall off….but hang in there!  It’s worth it!

Add the vanilla extract.  Fold the chocolate chips into the batter by hand and stir gently until evenly distributed.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 50 minutes, or until a tester inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean. 

While the cake is baking, lick this bowl clean. (This step is courtesy of the Pirate Mom.  A refined Charlestonian lady would NEVER tell you to do such.)

Remove the cake from the oven and allow it to cool in the pan.  Invert the cake onto a plate and marvel at the beauty.

Now, this next step is not from the Charleston Cake Lady.  It is pure Pirate Mom.  Take your container of frosting and microwave  (remove the inside seal and return the lid loosely first) for about a minute and stir it well.

Then pour about 3/4 to all of it on the top of your cooled cake, allowing it to drip down the sides and into the middle.  Unforunately, I forgot to take a picture of this step and the finished cake in all it’s ooey, gooey glory, but I’m sure you can just imagine the above cake with rich chocolate goodness all over the top.  UMMMM-UMMMMM!

I highly encourage all of you to check out the cookbook at the above link.  Mrs. Pregnall includes several other doctored cake recipes, delicious pound cake recipes and many traditional Charleston recipes, like ones for Benne Seed Wafers and Punch Bowl Cake.  Trust me….you’ll feel all Southern and proper (and a little fat).

Welcome to my first Flashback Friday post here on my new blog!  If you’re new to these parts, I started hosting Flashback Fridays on my old blog some time ago.  It was just a fun way to look back on my past in all of its big-haired glory.  Sometimes I’d pull up a memory from my early childhood.  Occasionally I’d focus on when one of my own children were smaller.  Just whatever form of nostalgia was tugging on my heart strings that week.

I’m not going to be hosting Flashback Fridays on The Pirate Mom Dot Com.  Hosting involved getting a link box thingamagiggy from Mr. Linky so others could post their links, and frankly, I just don’t feel like fooling with it.  Plus, I don’t think I’m going to be doing it every Friday.  However, if you ever want to post your own, by all means, do it!  You can always post your link in my comment section because, boy howdy, would I love to read your post!

Okay, so now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s move on to this week’s Flashback….

All-Stars!!!

If you followed my old blog, you know that I played a lot of softball in my youth.  I loved it!  Before I discovered softball, I basically considered myself a non-athlete.  And ever since I stopped playing, I basically have considered myself a non-athlete.

So, as a basic non-athlete, I have no qualms about being completely prideful in telling you that I made the All-Star team every year I played.  For you non-softball/baseball types, All-Stars is a collection of the best players from each of the teams in a league.  The team will then practice together and go on to play in one or several tournaments throughout the rest of the summer, after the regular season is over.

Here is a shot of me and my dad back in the day…

I believe this was from 1986, and I also believe that I had the corner of the market in AquaNet hairspray.  See that little piece from my perfectly coiffed mullet that blew up from the back?  Well, the only way to achieve that was with a very hot curling iron and a lot of sprayage.

My dad usually coached my teams, and All-Stars was no exception.  Yeah, we all called him “Mr.”  No, just kidding…it stood for MenRiv, which was the Navy housing development where I lived in Charleston, SC.

Playing softball in July in Charleston was hot.  H-O-T…HOT!  Let me just say that there was a lot AquaNet running into our eyes.  Besides the heat, my one vivid memory of playing All-Stars was going to a state tournament somewhere upstate.  We had to stay over night in a hotel, but earlier that evening we all ate dinner at a pizza parlor that was located in the back parking lot of the hotel.  We were all about 13 or 14 years-old, but that didn’t stop us from flirting shamelessly with our waiter.  Apparently, one of the girls (who WAS NOT me, Dad….I swear on my can of AquaNet!!!)from our team gave him the phone number to her room.  Well, after his shift, he and a few friends tried to find her room, and what ensued was a lot of screaming, giggling girls and two dads/coaches with softball bats.  I will never forget the sight of my dad rounding the corner of the hotel balcony with my hot pink bat in his hands, yelling at the, now fleeing,  group of boys to get away from our windows.  I will also never forget the tongue-lashing he gave me in front of my teammates….even though I WAS NOT the one who encouraged that waiter.  (My dad has always thought it was me and one of my friends….but it wasn’t.  It was someone else, and in the slight chance that you’re reading this blog, you know who you are.)

The reason I bring up All-Stars this week is because we found out this past Monday night that Dirty Harry made his Little League All-Star team!

He was nominated last year but was not, ultimately, selected for the team, so we were all super-excited for him!  So far he’s having a great time even though the practices have been extremely hot this week.  But something tells me we don’t have to worry about AquaNet getting in any of their eyes…

I know that techinically this is a Flashback, but please excuse me as I flash forward and project an All-Star of 2017….

(And I mean the one with the pacifier, as I am back to my non-athleticism these days.)