When Knievel Was King

Oh yeah, I was totally and completely an Evel Knievel fan.

What? Like you weren’t? Right. Only if you weren’t born yet. And still, even then...

Of course, at first, my mom wasn’t too sure about this . . . fascination. After all, his name was “Evel.” It couldn’t have been more clear. But it wasn’t clear at all. Turns out his name was more of a gimmick. Hyperbole. And it wasn’t actually “Evil,” right? It was “Evel.” Vowels make all the difference. Turns out he was a nice guy. At least as far as Evel’s connection to me as a kid, he was an all American daredevil who jumped motor cycles over rows of cars, trucks or whatever else he could find, in ever increasing numbers while telling us kids to stay clear of drugs.

He set world records, jumping over things with that motor cycle. It was magical, my friend. Magical.

I didn’t know much about what he did with his private life. That was the stuff of legends. All that mattered was the joy of waiting for him to jump, then the joy of watching him approach the ramp, then the joy of seeing the jump and seeing him land. When he crashed, it really upset me. I wanted him to make it. I didn’t want him hurt. It really was all about the jump, the risk, the daring do, and the flash of a smile when he was through.

For Christmas one year, I received a treasured gift. It was an Evel Knievel action figure with stunt bike. The most popular toy in the land of America at the time. It made the toy company over 300 million dollars. Viva Americana! Oh yes. It was a little Evel on a little motorcycle that you wound up with this round lever on a little red plastic platform. Zim zim ZIM, louder and louder. You would launch Evel and he would ride and jump over a ramp, over whatever you might put in his path.

Here’s what happened.

Someone broke my Evel. And when they did, they just shrugged their shoulders and walked away, like it didn’t matter. And no one did anything about it. It was not replaced. It was not fixed. I was left holding the sad and tattered remains with no hope of justice.

Now THAT was evil.

Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

Green Army Men

When I was little, the Avon lady called, which means she came by our house to sell my mom some Avon products. My mom seemed to like the Avon lady, and I’m sure she would have loved to order all kinds of things, but it was relatively expensive. So she’d usually have a nice chat with the Avon lady and buy something small.

One time when the Avon lady was over, I became interested in the little catalogue they used. I have no idea why. But I somehow ended up standing at the table looking through the little catalogue while they talked and, low and behold, there were toys in there. What were toys doing in there?! They weren’t fancy, but it opened up a whole new world. Avon selling toys. It meant that anything is possible!

Not really.

But there were some green army men in there. If I remember right, they also had little farm animals and cowboys and such. They were in sets and they had lots of pieces. I was amazed to find them in there so I showed my mom. Can you believe it mom! Toys in the Avon book! She looked at it and then she looked at me and said something I’ll never forget. She said...

“I can see how a little boy would like to have that.”

I remember feeling kind of warm when she said it. How could she see? How could she know? It was a mystery. But I trusted her. After all, she bought a set for me. And I got to wait in wonderful anticipation for it to arrive. It seemed to take forever. But I vaguely remember playing with it in the back yard, in the dirt. And I did NOT use antibacterial soap when I was finished. Regular soap worked just fine.

Thing is, memories of the toy itself are gone. Lost in the haze. But my mom’s simple moment of empathy will never be lost to me. And now I’d like to have empathy with my kids. I want to understand them. So I try to remember what it’s like to be a kid. To struggle as a child. To want and not be able to reach. To have to rely on someone else for things whether I like it or not. Sometimes I get down on my knees and look around the house to see it from my youngest daughter’s perspective. I find that praying from that position is helpful too.

I think part of this is that I don’t want my kids to lose their trust in me. I know they’ll lose some of it as they become more and more aware of my limitations. But I hope that by remembering what it was like, by remembering how it feels, I can find a way to relate to them, to be honest with them and, hopefully, understand them a little. That way I can help them try to get through the madness of youth without becoming completely overwhelmed by pain or sorrow or loss.

I can dream, can’t I?




Matthew 18:2-4
Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2010

The Pluto Platter

I thought you’d want to know.

The inventor of the Frisbee just died. His name was Fred Morrison. He was 90 years old. But he didn’t call it a “Frisbee.” That change took place when he licensed a toy company to sell his invention. Seems Fred wasn’t much of a salesman. But boy could he invent things.

Fred’s name for the toy was the “Pluto Platter.” I kind of prefer “Pluto Platter.”

“Frisbee” was a pie company. Kids liked to throw the pie tins, so the toy company renamed the Pluto Platter and gave it the name of the pie company. And for this they get millions – no, probably gazillions – of dollars? Frisbee sounds right because that’s what we’ve always called it. But it could have been otherwise. The discs original name would have likely become known by the simplified nickname “PP.”

“Hey man, you got your PP?” “The kids are on the beach throwing around their PP.” “I think I left my PP in the car.” “Man, did you see the dog catch that PP in his mouth?”

What a wonderful world it could have been.

Mr. Morrison never liked the new name. It just wasn’t as . . . sonorous.

Fred invented some other toys as well. None of them were as successful, but what is? Still. I bet that battery powered tomahawk he came up with was a wonder.

Good night, Fred. Rest in peace my good man.



Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010