Love, Life, and Hurricanes

On September 2, 1999, a tropical wave exited the coast of Africa. Far away to the Northwest a young man and his wife were visiting a Doctor that specialized in high risk pregnancies. The mother-to-be was a petite woman and had stayed petite throughout the thirty-six weeks of carrying a developing child in her womb. This concerned the Doctors. Tummies are supposed to grow big when you are this far along on the course to reach the 40 weeks of a full-term pregnancy. The Doctors had suggested a milkshake each night. The father-to-be greatly enjoyed this suggestion, and eagerly joined his wife in this nightly ritual as an act of solidarity. His tummy grew, but the woman’s belly barely changed. The soon-to-be first time parents were a little nervous, but somehow knew everything would be OK. They supported each other and were deeply in love.

Meanwhile, the tropical wave made its way across the Atlantic Ocean. Two other strong forces of nature were plotting a devious plan as they awaited the warm tropical wave’s arrival.  The other forces, known as anti-cyclone and deep convection, had been battling as the tropical wave approached. The tropical wave had just wanted to peacefully glide across the ocean spreading warmth and peace in its path. But anti-cyclone and deep convection saw an opportunity to wreak havoc by combining their strength with the fast traveling wave of warm air. They could ride this wave eastward to warmer waters which would help them gain strength. Elements of nature longed to be named, and the only way to earn it is to gain strength. On September 7, they earned a name. The combined forces were called Floyd the Tropical Depression. But as with many forms of energy that live and swirl about on this planet, they were not satisfied by this achievement of gaining a name. They wanted more power. They moved further eastward soaking up more and more strength from the warmer waters that they had made their way to.

The child-expecting-couple also had names.  They also had plotted to create a new and powerful force that would bear a name itself. They had not yet heard about the approach of Floyd who had been raised to the category of tropical storm based on the speed of her winds. The couple had already chosen a name for the life force that their love would give birth to. It was a name that was empowered with a meaning that can only result in the development of a strong individual full of love and wisdom. In the language of the Hebrews, the name translated as G-d answered. The name itself implied that the parents had asked G-d himself to intervene in their lives and help them bring a new life into this world. The name expressed a confidence that G-d would honor their profound request. While Floyd was being upgraded to the status of hurricane, the baby had been hiccupping away for thirty –seven weeks in her mother’s tummy. The hiccups were reassuring to the young couple. It was as if the tiny life knew that they needed to know that she was OK and sent out little fluttery signals to help them remain calm. The Doctors had said that it was important that the mother not have the baby until week 38, when her lungs would be fully developed.

The beautiful mother’s tummy had still not grown as much as the Doctors had wanted. The baby hiccupped and said, “I’m fine.” She was cozy and snug in her Mommy’s small tummy. But this did not stop the Doctors’ nervous glances at each other. As week 38 approached, the baby’s wise grandfather had been watching the atmospheric conditions. He knew that pressure systems could influence peoples’ lives in unexpected ways. He had lived a long time and had witnessed many hurricanes. The expecting couple had also felt the effects of Hurricane Hugo which had passed directly through the Queen City where they lived, deeper into the mainland than most hurricanes traveled. There had been power failures, trees had fallen, houses had been destroyed, and roads had been blocked. The Grandpa-to-be became worried and warned every one of the approaching storm. It was on a similar path to Hugo and all members of the family began to get nervous. What if Hurricane Floyd came to the Queen City? What if the drop in atmospheric pressure caused the labor cycle to begin before week 38 arrived? And what if the roads were blocked and the hospital couldn’t be reached.

On the day that week 38 arrived, Floyd was hesitating just off the coast of South Carolina as if she could not decide where to make landfall. The expectant parents went to the Doctor for a regular weekly check-up. They were happy that the baby was still just fine and sending out sonic signals via hiccup. But the Doctor was worried about the approaching storm. She had also survived the wrath of Hugo. After the check-up, she said that she did not want to risk the arrival of the storm and with it the chance that we might not be able to get to the hospital. She announced with a big smile, “Go home and pack your bags and check-in at the hospital. You are going to have a baby today!” The expectant parents were very excited and the Doctors cautioned that the new baby would barely be bigger than a peanut, but that she would be fine since they had made it to the 38-week mark.

They went to the hospital. The labor inducement methods took much longer to work than expected. Hurricane Floyd finally made up her mind and moved further east before making landfall. It was a very large storm though and its effect on air pressure and wind were felt in the Queen City, but most of its havoc was wreaked upon the cities, barrier islands, and capes far to the east. 

The baby named “G-d Answered” was born on September 15 just as the storm moved back out to sea never to return. The cold waters of the Northern Atlantic Ocean snuffed out the hurricane by starving it of warmth, much like lack of oxygen lack of oxygen starves a flame. But G-d had answered and brought warmth and light into the new parents lives in the form of a little-larger-than-peanut-sized baby. All the forces of nature had aligned in the perfect storm that gave them the most precious gift. A daughter.

What makes a baby grow to be the individual they will become? This child grew to be a kind, compassionate, smart, loving, loyal, and beautiful young woman. She took on the best qualities of each parent and was destined for greatness. It is widely known that by age seventeen she had already accomplished greatness. She became a passionate reader, artist, and scholar. She was a loyal friend. And she was loving of and loved by her younger sister. Did the hurricane winds stir the air and dust in such a way to help create a such an extraordinary person? Her father thinks it did. But her mother and father know deep in their hearts that their love for each other played a role as well. But most of the credit for this child’s accomplishments belong to her own strength and conviction.

The moral of this story is that if you want to have a daughter as wonderful as the cosmos itself, make use of the forces of nature and make a request of the creator of all things. Time the delivery of the baby during hurricane season. Drink milkshakes. Create life from a place of deep love. But just remember, there will only ever be only one child like this one. She was born to be special and the conditions that created her were unique, maybe even mystic. She is one of a kind and always will be. And the world will be forever a better place to live because she has walked upon it.

Blue Cars and Red Cars- A First Car Story

I started my first job with one goal in mind. Save enough money to buy a car when I turned sixteen. I was twelve at the time. I worked at a campground/marina on a large lake in North Carolina. I cleaned bathhouses, drove the garbage truck, mowed grass and slung weeds. For three summers, I spent all day Saturday and Sunday manning the gas dock. I started out at $1.85/hour and worked my way up to $2.85/hour. Several weeks before my sixteenth birthday I started shopping for a car. It was 1981 and I had saved $2,250. I would check out the classifieds every Sunday to find a cool car that I could buy with my savings. Every car that I liked was a little out of my price range. At the rate I made per hour, it would take months to have enough money to get the car I wanted.

 I watched as my friends showed up at school in Barracudas, Mustangs, Camaros, and Trans Ams.  Their parents were footing the bill. My Dad had promised that if I saved enough to buy a car, he would cover the insurance.  Just as I was losing hope, I found a car that was close to my price point. It was a “68 Mustang. Custom painted a deep red with lots of clear coats to make it look even redder. It had glass pack mufflers that made a beautiful rumbling sound as it idled. The price tag was $2500.  I talked to my parents. Dad arranged for my mother to pick up the car and bring it home so he and I could test it out and have his mechanic check it out.  I was excited! Mom reported that as she drove it to our house someone had challenged her to a drag race!

I fell in love with that car. Dad’s mechanic did not. He rattled off a whole bunch of work it would need and I’m sure that sealed Dad’s opinion. The seller was firm in his price of $2500. I asked my father to loan me $250 so that I could buy the ’68 “sure to be classic” car.  Dad asked, “Why would you pay all that money for an old car that needs a ton of work?” He pointed out that our neighbors had a nice car that was only three years old and they were selling it for $2,250. I could buy it and not have to borrow any money. Besides, it was newer and would not need all that work. So, I bought the neighbor’s car. If you know anything about cars, you will know what happened next when I tell you that my very first car that I spent my entire life savings on was an Audi Fox.

On my sixteenth birthday, I passed the driving test. License in hand, I drove my new European car to the rural high school I attended. My friends thought it was the funniest car they had ever seen. “What is that?” they chuckled. And, “Oooooh…it says BLUE FOX on it!” Ugh. We had not had the mechanic check it out because it was newer and we trusted the neighbors. When it started misfiring, I took it to the shop. The mechanic came up with a full-page list of work the Audi needed. Number one on the list was a broken strut. I did not know what a strut was, but apparently, this car was equipped with very expensive, but fragile McPherson struts. I don’t remember all the details, but the estimate was close to $1,000.  I think Dad coughed up money for the repair bill out of a guilty conscience.

I hung on to the Fox through high school. I found that if I shifted quickly into second gear I could make the tires bark. That had my friends rolling. My friends also loved to see me pull up to the Handy-Pantry to buy a quart of oil every other day. When I would unscrew the oil cap, a billow of smoke would rise out like I had rubbed a genie lamp. No wishes granted. But it did give my friends a new line, “Hey Scott, that is really cool. The Fox has an overhead cam smoker!” More rolling and knee slapping. I endured it though, and they didn’t complain when I drove places so they could drink as much as they wanted.

I took the Blue Fox with me to college high up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It got me and a couple of buddies that had previously laughed at my car up and down those mountains many weekends. The electric cooling fan quit working, so we would watch the engine temperature gauge climb as we made our way up steep grades and then watch it fall with relief as we coasted down the other side of the hills. One of the high beams shot way off to the right side of the road and often helped us spot deer along the roads as we made our way between home and dormitory life.

The following year I moved back home and attended the local University. The Fox threw a rod and that was all she wrote. My Dad sold me his old diesel pick-up truck for a bargain. Thus, began my lifelong pursuit of the perfect car. I think I have been trying to make up for losing out on that deep red Mustang my whole life.  However, I always end up putting practicality over what I really want. So, this week, some 36 years later, I bought a deep red convertible!  It’s not a Mustang, but it looks sporty. But I kept it practical. It has a backseat. Underneath the sporty exterior is a Toyota Camry. Dad has a Camry. 

The car is cool, yet practical. Just like me and my dad.

Pinball and Daydreams

I was ten years old and I had captured the silver ball with my left flipper. 

I held it firmly as I surveyed the surface of the table below the glass. I checked to see if the “special” light was on. It was. I could let the ball roll to just the right point near the middle of the flipper and then tap the button hard hooking it left and down the drain that crossed the trigger for the “special.” It meant sacrificing my last ball to get a new game and five more balls to play. Suspended, I weighed my options. Free game or keep the ball in play, go for the spinners, rack up some points, and go for a new high score.

I was addicted to pinball. I wasn’t a pinball wizard; I was a pinball junkie. The owners of The Game-room were my pushers. I remember the first marked quarters handed out like candy. I felt a rush of adrenaline the first time I drew back the spring-loaded launcher and sent the ball rocketing up ramps, through spinners, and bouncing off light-up bumpers. Ding-ding-ding it danced and then shot like a bullet straight down the middle drain. Now this had my attention.  The next ball in play had my complete focus. Hyper-focus. My eyes were lasers. The machine’s cacophonous sounds and flashing lights were some sort of magic magnet. I was mesmerized. Spellbound. Hooked.

Normally I daydreamed. My mind wandered. But now I was back at the Pinball machine. I was playing the new Captain Fantastic machine; Crowds had gathered as I racked up a new high score. I could hear The Who, “He’s a pinball wizard, there has to be a……LeGette!” The game room dissolved. “LeGette!”’ Mrs. Turner, my 5^th grade teacher was barking my name. “LeGette! Are you daydreaming again?” I was sitting at my desk surrounded by rows of classmates. They were all staring at me. Their eyes signaled,” What is wrong with you?” I wanted to be back at that pinball machine. I wanted to be anywhere but here with my name being barked and a bunch of kids looking at me like I was some sort of alien.

Mrs. Turner confirmed their suspicion, “Now that you have come back to earth, Mr. LeGette, could you please come to the board and solve this problem?” I looked at the blackboard and saw hieroglyphics. Everyone called it math, but it was just a jumble of numbers and meaningless symbols. Mrs. Turner certainly knew I could not solve the problem. It was written in secret code. The room was sweltering as Mrs. Turner stared at me. She wore a tank top shirt that showed off her hairy armpits. The giant fan was blowing hot air in my direction. I was feeling sick to my stomach. I could not move. 

Sheila, a neighbor who talked to me at the bus stop, but never at school, raised her hand. She spoke up, “I can solve it, Mrs. Turner.” Phew. Pressure was off. Sheila went to the board and scrawled  numbers and lines and tapped out dots with the chalk. She finished it off by drawing a circle around her final answer. I had no idea what she had just done, but Mrs. Turner was pleased for a moment before turning to me and scowling, “You should pay attention instead of daydreaming if you want to get anywhere in this world!”

As the teacher returned to droning on about dividing fractions, I gave my undivided attention back to staring out the window and dreaming that I was being hoisted up on the shoulders of my fans who were chanting, “High Score! High Score!” They carried me to the game-room counter where I was handed a large trophy and awarded free games for life.