Cross Your Fingers!

Since I have not chosen this blog as a place to bore you with facts, I will not attempt to research the origin of the phrase 'cross your fingers', but I will tell you (strictly from my own, personal, everyday knowledge) that I would guess the phrase is related to a time when:

Back in the 16th century, supernatural creatures like witches and ghosts were generally accepted by many people to be real and sometimes the cause of bad luck or illnesses. Believing that the power of the cross would help protect them from evil, it was often used. The proper way of drawing a cross back then, and still used to this day, is to touch the forehead, heart, left shoulder, then right shoulder with you right hand.
There was not always time to do the proper drawing of it though. Say someone suddenly crossed paths with another who they thought were a witch, they would need protection immediately! So they used a shortcut: making a cross with both their index and second fingers. Doing this would protect them straight away from the evil that was before them, or so they thought.
Most of these beliefs have died out here in the modern day, but the gestures that were used continue on.

But you know, if I were to go to all that trouble then I would have to start a website designed to explain phrases.  And If I were to do that I would probably call it something like: http://www.knowyourphrase.com
 But seriously, I wouldn't want to go through all that trouble so I will have to sit back patiently and wait to see if anyone else gets the idea first.  I'm crossing my fingers.

Today I am not asking you to cross your fingers to ward off evil.  Far from it!  I have mentioned before the Blogs Of Note on blogger.com. I go to that section occasionally to see what others are doing and what attracts the most attention from the powers that select the 'winner' daily.  From what I can tell tons of pictures and using the 'F' word a lot is the key to success.  Well I firetrucking will not stoop that that flapjacking level! 


I have been on there a few times lately and I have noticed that the trend has been more toward the family friendly.  I have even seen one written by someone who was a Christian and wrote about their family.  (who almost never used the f word)  It has given me hope.  Maybe, perhaps, could be, that some day I will be chosen for the day and then I will become rich and famous and interviewed by the local television station...or maybe they will just spell my name wrong in the back section of the newspaper.  


Anyway, I have just tried to change something on the blog.  I have added a new section at the top left column.   Well, I have tried to add something to the top left column.  It should be something that links you to my Facebook page.  It might also be a map to the nearest frozen yogurt store.  I am thinking that it could propel me into the double digits of "likes" on ye goode ole Facebook.  Cross your fingers!

First Thing

I slept on my glasses again.  Yes, I know.  That is the sort of random statement that a teenager full of adolescent angst would say in a blog that is then followed by a bunch of "...and I like so-and-so and I think she looked at me in gym."  It may be because I haven't fallen asleep with my glasses on in nearly that long.  I'm not going to count all the times it happened when we were new parents because at that time I was thrilled that I made it to the bed before I fell down, passed out, and drooled on myself til morning.  (not necessarily in that order)

I would love to say that my statement about bespectacled bedtime was some sort of romantic notion I had about writing a blog solely based on the first thing that came to mind when I woke up.  No such luck.  My mind still has its share of random thoughts.  That might be a good idea to explore in the future when I have a little more time to write again.  As it is, I am racing the clock to see if I can squeeze some writing in before the alarm goes off and I am named chauffeur of the year for my daughter to go to choir class before real school starts.

A while back I went to a blog that had recently been named 'Blog of Note' and she was having a contest.  Being a sure-I'll-take-something-for-nothing kind of guy I entered the contest.  The author was giving away a book titled, "How to really make your blog great in a month."  That was not the title at all but I wouldn't know.  I didn't win.  As a friend of mine wrote in his Facebook page.  I opened a Dr Pepper and the cap said, "Sorry not a winner" I didn't even know I was playing and I am already losing."  I never win anything.  Of course I don't really need to have a 'beef up your blog in a month' kind of book, thank you very much.  I have a pretty good handle on this whole thing right now.  I'm pretty sure chapter one was all about go to your real job after summer vacation and ignore the blog for two weeks.  I'm also guessing that chapter two talks about coming back to your blog and writing about the first inane thing that pops into your head.  You'll just have to wait and see what I imagine the other twenty nine chapters are about.  If one of them is about having a contest to see who will win a doodle, I am already way ahead of the curve!  (I didn't win that one either...and it was my own contest...and it was rigged!!)  I really hope that one of the chapters was about stopping in the middle of what you were writing to go and check if anyone had commented on your Facebook status!  Done!


I should probably get the book just to see if there were any practical ideas about getting my kids to relinquish the computer so I could write.  That would be worth the money right there.  I think I have already explained that my laptop has decided that it has a five to ten minute window of working.  Hearing my plight, my dad brought over his old laptop so I could continue to write my book while traveling over the summer.  After a mere day in my charge it started displaying what PC technicians refer to as "the blue screen of death."  So now we have this one, desktop, steam powered, computer to share amongst the family.  And the kids need it for school.  Hey!  Maybe one of the chapters in the book is "Wait on your front porch until a random laptop delivery man gives you a new one for free!"  (I'm gonna guess chapter five)

OK, well I didn't make it to posting before school.  I have just now come back to it on the weekend after my alarm clock dog gratefully woke me up so he could spare our carpet and I could get to the computer while everyone else was sleeping.  (chapter eight..."Get an alarm clock dog")

OH well.  I have an idea for my other silly blog and I want to get to that before I feel the hot breath of computer envy on my neck.  If anyone is looking for me I'll be waiting on the front porch.

Happy New Year!!

In keeping with the 'has this Jeff Garrett guy lost his mind?' theme, I thought I would write about a happy new year, today, on Labor Day.  There are literally dozens of teachers going back to school tomorrow and to them I wanted to say...happy new year!  For the millions of us who work in districts who don't subscribe to the whole, "school starts right after Labor Day" notion, I say..."Yay!  We already got a day off!  After only a week of school."

I know it sounds funny to get a day off so quickly after summer break but I gotta tell you, some of us (perhaps people who teach one grade level higher than me...but I digress) already needed a break desperately.  Luckily, I do not count myself in that particular group this year.  I, for some blessed and unforeseen reason, have been given an experimental class this year.  I am teaching a group of nicely programmed little five year old robots who want nothing more than to wait and see what it is I want them to do next.  (That pounding sound you hear is me knocking on wood and hoping that the year continues as well as it has so far)  It's not to say that it has all been perfect.  I have already talked to a few parents, restated the rules numerous times, and given some time outs, but oh what a difference a year makes.

I know that some people think that summer break is a pretty cool gig and teachers should just get back to work already with no breaks.  To them I say that I could explain about all the times that I have already had to turn on the school alarm as I left because the custodians had already gone home.  I could explain that I have already taken boxes of work home with me because there just aren't enough hours in the day to get things done at school.  I could say that my children are researching child labor laws to see if I really can make them cut, and glue, and trace, and color, and fold, and tape, and staple, and...you get the idea.  (If I can't, don't let them know)  I could tell you that I go home exhausted from being "on" all day with an active bunch of four and five year olds.  I could tell you that I am paying out of my own pocket to get first day of school pictures for everyone, and that I had to make two trips since someone couldn't be there on the first day.  I could, but I won't.   You have heard it all before.  And if you haven't, then I should probably also tell you that you could switch your auto insurance in less than fifteen minutes with Geico.

I am looking forward to a great new year that doesn't have anything to do with a falling ball...unless you count the playground.  The kids are ready, the parents are ready, the staff is ready, and I have an extra day off so that I can paint, and do yard work, and move furniture, and clean, and organize, and you get the idea.  Who's the genius who decided to name it "Labor" Day?

Have a great year everyone!!

Just Because You're Paranoid...

If you haven't already, many of you will be questioning my sanity after this post.  I tend to lean toward worry.  I can't help it, it's in my genes.  I don't let it spoil my day or keep me from doing things, but worry wiggles its way into my subconscious much of the time.  Most of the time I try to harness it into positive avenues.  If I can see a hole in the plans being made, it is helpful to bring them to light and correct them before things fall apart...right?  Or maybe I am just a butt-in-ski.  We'll let the history books determine that.

When we are leaving the house I am usually the one who runs around checking to see if the windows are shut, the doors are locked, the stove is off, the lights are off, the dog is secured in his area, the dragon has been fed...you get the idea.  I have not slipped into turning the lights on and off thirteen times (but I can understand it at times).  I generally have no problem going through my day and have even awakened to a car door that was left unlocked, a garage door that was open, and even a key left in a lock, without having a mild to moderate sized seizure.  One time the problem arises is when we are all in the van and Sylvia asks, "Did you lock the door?"  I know full well that the door has been locked.  Rare is the day when I leave without checking.  But if she asks, I have to go check.  That's not too bad, right?  Even if I have to drive around the block to do it?  I don't think I need therapy just yet.  (but I almost cried when I heard they were canceling Monk) 

In my classroom it helps me to think ahead for planning.  When I am thinking, 'what will the kids who finish early do?' I don't consider it worry.  When I think, 'I wonder if someone left their milk carton open in their cubby?'  Worry.  But there is also another recently unfounded worry that rears its ugly head nearly every day.  Are you ready?  OK, true confession time...

I worry that one of my kindergarteners is hiding behind the bathroom door waiting to surprise me when I go to the restroom.

The first step is admitting it to yourself.  I feel better now.

This has never really been an issue before I started teaching the little five year olds.  I could have gone my entire life without worrying about kids hiding in the bathroom if I was still a truck driver.  If I had gotten the job dressing up as Chuck E. Cheese there would have been loads of youngsters, but the attraction of all of their games and pizza would have kept the kids from hiding out in a stall.  It only became an issue when I decided, as a professional, that it was taking too long to go all the way over to the bathroom across the school yard.  Add to that, the other teachers said that I should just use the bathroom in the room like they did.  OK, I will try.

So with my colleagues watching the youngins' at recess, I decided to try it.  And then 'wham'  it occurred to me..."there is more than enough room for a kid to hide behind this door!"  And so it began...I became a 'behind the door checker.'  Every day when nature called at recess (I have a teacher bladder) I would check behind the door.  I would think, "There's really no reason to check.  No one wants to be in here instead of outside."  But then a thought would follow..."I really don't want to be any part of a phone call that includes the sentence, 'I didn't know your child was in the bathroom with me.'"  So I check.  Every day.  Never found anyone (much like I never found the Boogey man under my bed when I was a kid) but I checked.

Every once in a while, it would seem a little silly to me (like my unproductive Boogey searches) but the risk, in my mind, outweighs the feeling of being silly.  And daily I have nothing to worry about...until last year.

Late last year, little Jane Curtain (the name has been changed to protect the adorable) would rather sit alone than play with the other children.  Mr. Garrett, being a butt-in-ski (I guess we know the answer now) would try to get her to engage in play with other kids.  She continued to find new places to get away from me, to no avail.  And then one day, when I really hadn't noticed if she was playing or hiding, nature called.  I went in thinking, it's silly but I am going to check...pull back the door..."Jane!  What are you doing here?  You need to go back to the playground and stop standing behind the door in the dark!  Do you realize that you have just reinforced a very serious mental disorder in Mr. Garrett and he will have to go to years of counseling with large amounts of medications after this!?"

OK, so maybe that isn't what I said, but I felt vindicated and worried all at the same time!  Perhaps I will need to wait until I get home to answer the call...after all I used to have a truck driver's bladder!

Just Giving Back

Given my usual lack of luck concerning borrowing vehicles I announced that I would not be borrowing my dad's truck ever again.  So he agreed to rent it to me...for a dollar.  With that bit of luck-boosting I agreed to take the truck.  At the beginning of our summer we borrowed rented my Dad's truck, packed up the trailer, and took off with our church to go to the mission in Arizona.  We had gone about two hundred of the nine hundred miles to the church when we turned onto the worst road in America.  Or so we thought.

We were traveling in a caravan of six vehicles and our camper, nicknamed 'Travels With Tee-pee', was bringing up the rear.  We weren't able to keep up with the speeds of the group for the most part but it wasn't a problem.  We all knew where we were going, we all had the map, and slow and steady wins the race...right?  From our San Francisco Bay Area start, we traveled south until we started to head east toward Arizona.  It was a bit of a tricky turn off but we made it, and we assumed that the others had made it as well.  When we turned off the main highway and started to take a state road the road was awful!  Sylvia and I looked at each other and said in unison, "This road is really bad.  Jinx!  You owe me a brownish colored cola flavored carbonated beverage (I'm waiting to see who wants to sponsor this blog and then I will insert an actual name here)"  We continued on the road for about thirty miles.  I looked at the big rigs traveling alongside.  They seemed to be bouncing as much as we were.  The kids were having fun talking with vibrating voices.  Our bottoms were being massaged.  And I was wondering if the milk in the refrigerator of the trailer had turned into a block of butter yet.

We traveled on this road/goat trail for a number of miles and then we connected with the highway that would take us all the way to Arizona.  The trouble was, this new larger highway was just as bad as the state road.  Hmmm, curious.  I would like to have said, "Hey. If all of these bumps are happening on every road we travel...is it possible it isn't the road at all?"  I would like to have said that, but I didn't.

This is where I am reminded of a time in high school when I smelled something bad.  Not to be indelicate, it smelled like poop.  I checked my shoes, (cautiously) I looked around, (secretively) and I could not find the source of the stink.  Man someone in here is stinky!  Then I went to my next class, and the next class...same smell.  I looked to the side and as nonchalantly as I could (because everyone in the room was watching me at all times waiting for me to mess up and then announce it to the class so I would be embarrassed...or maybe I was just being an adolescent) I bowed my head, raised my shoulder, and sniffed my shirt.  BINGO!  I was wearing a shit-shirt! (apologies)  Unbeknownst to me, my mom switched laundry detergents and this new detergent had a chemical reaction with the fibers in this shirt to make it the opposite of spring fresh.  Add to that my overabundance of teenage awkwardness and I had a horrible rest of the day.  But I digress...

The point is, if it smells in every new place you go you should smell your shirt.  And if every road you are traveling on feels as bumpy as the last...you should check your vehicle.  We were out of walkie talkie range.  We were traveling slower than even we should have due to the shaking.  Sylvia got on the phone and called Mark, the leader of our group, to tell him that we were going to have to stop and get the truck checked out since we were having a problem.  The conversation went something like:

"Mark, we have a problem and we need to stop."
"What's up?"
"Our truck is really shaking and we aren't sure why.  You guys just go on ahead and we'll catch up later."
"Well we made a wrong turn and lost everyone else...where are you?"
"We are at mile marker 264."
"We are at mile marker 262.  We'll catch up to you in about a minute."

At this time I would like to express my sincere gratitude to God for watching over us and showing that even wrong turns can turn out to be blessings.

When they caught up to us they came alongside the truck and said that the back tires were bouncing up and down on the road...even with an eleven thousand pound trailer pushing down on the bed of the truck.  This was bad.  We pulled over and I tried to find a truck repair/tire store/miracle worker on my smart phone.  The closest was about fifteen miles away down a two lane road, complete with construction.  When we got close, we called and got to hear a grumpy (possibly intoxicated) gentleman announce that he would put two used tires on our truck for a hundred dollars apiece.  As appealing as that was, ahem, we decided to look further and found a Walmart tire center like a gleaming city on a hill.  We limped, and prayed, and coaxed, and prayed, and babied, and prayed the truck into the back of the tire center and went inside.

At the counter, it looked like the ticket counter at the airport in Casablanca after they announced that evacuations were necessary.  It was crowded, it was hot and sweaty, and people looked depressed and hopeless.  The only things missing were camels and stale cigarette smoke.  With all of these people in front of us, and only one of the two people working able to use the computer at a time, I felt my own hope slipping away...and along for the trip, riding piggy-back, was my ability for rational thought.

It all seemed to come to me at once, in the crowded line at the tire center in the Barstow Walmart.  This could have been bad!  We could have blown a tire...or two!  There could have been an accident!  I am driving Dad's truck and there is another problem!  We could have been alone!  The problem might not just be the tires!  This is day one of a week long trip!  My new credit card hasn't come and this one has a crack in it.  What if it won't go through the machine?  What if the last payment didn't make it yet and "declined" is the only thing that comes to the screen?  I have to call my dad and tell him that once again, while my hands were on the steering wheel, there was another problem with the truck!  The people in charge of our mission trip group are now held back with us instead of leading everyone to the first stop!  All of these thoughts were bouncing around in my head when I heard the clerk tell someone about five people ahead of me that she would write up the work order but she couldn't guarantee that it would be done today.  ***snap***

After that everyone started sounding like Charlie Brown's teacher from the Peanuts cartoon.  "Waaaa waa waaa wa.  Waaa wa wa waaaa wa."  Mark and Rich propped me up emotionally as Aly and Beth were outside with Sylvia, the kids, and Fudge the wonder dog.  We slowly, and I do mean slowly, got to the front of the line and I ordered two new tires for the back of the truck that I had already unhitched from the trailer.  And she said to me...at about five o'clock..."I'll write it up but I can't guarantee that it will get done today."  Always trying to make people laugh I teased, "But we are doing God's work!"  She laughed and told me that she would see what she could do.  I, crossing my fingers, paid for the tires, signed the paperwork, and went out to join the rest of the people who just happened to be waiting in 110 degree heat.

I tried to tell them that the worst was over and they should just go on ahead and we would be fine.  I tried to reason that if they didn't get the tires done, we could at least stay in the trailer and start out tomorrow morning after they were done.  They wouldn't hear of it.  And we all sat, for three hours, in the hot summer Barstow sun, while car after car got worked on.  I was happy to be on the other side of most of the stress and I didn't want to deal with any more when Rich said, "Let's go check and see how much longer."  When we went in, the tire guys had pulled two giant truck tires that looked like something you would put on a tractor if you were planning to get stuck up to your tailpipe in mud!  He said, "Ummm, those aren't the tires for the red truck are they?"  He looked at the invoice and said, "These are the ones you paid for."

Back to Casablanca...where we found out that the saleslady, direct from housewares, pharmacy, or perhaps the young miss section, had written up the right size but a completely different tire.  Back to the drawing board...and the possibility that they do not have my size tires.  What's that teacher?  Waaa wa wa waaa wa.  Waaaaaa waa waaa waaaaaa.

In checking on their progress, Rich went and talked to the (we'll call them methodical) workers and they showed him the old tires.  Apparently the tread had completely separated from the tire itself and was only being held on by a couple of miracles.  It could have been much, much worse than it was.

At a little after the time that they closed the tire center, they allowed me to drive it out of the shop.  Two new tires on the truck and about six hours behind everyone else in the group we set out again.

I have a new appreciation for friends who stay and help when rational arguments can be made for leaving.  I seriously think our trip would not have gone as smoothly as it did after that, if we had been on our own.  With everything seeming to go wrong and all of the frustration I felt at the tire center in Casablanca, I am not sure I would have made it without someone else coming alongside and lending a hand.  And that, Ms. DeGuzman, is why I stopped getting ready for my own students arrival and helped get your twenty two cartons of curriculum out of chaos and into your classroom.  For me, it was ten minutes.  For you, it may have pulled you back from the edge.

It's gonna be a great year...but I still owe my dad a dollar.

The First Domino

I have known for years that I do not do things the same way much of the population does.  I see things wildly differently than most everyone else.  I even hear things strangely.  With my predisposition to not fit in to the normal way of doing things, it is always a shock when I am blindsided by something that happens to almost everyone else on the planet.  Today I have been tackled by what most men fear the most---The First Domino.

It started simply enough when my son, Jake, announced the other day that he had outgrown the sports themed decorations in his room and wanted to paint it a different color.  OK, I thought, take down the border, wash the walls, new can of paint...40 bucks.  "Sure Jake!" I said magnanimously, "Let's do it."  And then I started hearing a faint ***click click click click**** off in the distance.  I had no idea what it was and it didn't concern me in the least.  I was young and foolish.

Jake started putting things in boxes and moving them out of his room.  He added to our perennial 'give away' boxes the things that he didn't want anymore and stored the rest in the screened room.  I came to his room to see the progress when he announced that he wanted to soak tennis balls in paint and 'splatter' his room.
"Well that's not gonna happen Bud.  Plan B?"
"I could throw paint from brushes."
"Plan C?"

We were still working out the details of the paint job when I heard it again.  Kristiana came in to measure his bed.  Apparently ***click click click*** she now wants to re-do her room but doesn't like the loft bed that she has.  Jake wants to put her loft bed into his room and she will take his bed into hers.
"When did furniture moving come into this?" I asked helplessly.  ***click***

Then ***click click click*** Jake announced that he wanted the loft to be not quite so lofty and it should be moved down about 8 inches.
"Jake..." ***click*** "There aren't holes to make the bed eight inches lower Pal."
"I know.  But you can do it Dad." ***click click***

As we were moving things out and around I went into the front room and asked Sylvia, "Were you considering the whole splatter paint idea?  Were you thinking that we would paint the ceiling too?"
"It is what he wants to do."  And then she looked up, ***click*** you know we haven't painted in here since we moved in, ***click click*** we should freshen up.
"Hey!  Stop looking up!  This room isn't even connected!  Forget I asked.  How bout those Bears?  They gonna go all the way this year?  And what is with all the clicking!?  Does no one else hear that?!"

I decided to retreat to Jake's room to check on the progress.  By this time I felt like the little Dutch boy with his finger on the leaky dam, except in my story there are about eight holes.  One of them is spraying my face and another is making me have to tell every snickering villager who walks by, "No really, I didn't wet myself.  It's the leaky dam.  Really."

So now we have two rooms being completely emptied and re-done, Sylvia is eyeballing the front room's color scheme, and I am thinking, "One coat of paint would have been a half day job.  Where did I go wrong? And will someone please stop that clicking!"

Amid all the hubbub of people moving things around, patching holes, and envisioning layouts, Sylvia came in and said, "You know," ***click click*** "that border came down a lot more easily than I expected." ***click*** "The border in the bathroom is starting to peel up at the edges.  I think we should find something new for in there."  ***CLICK***

By now, of course, I have finally figured out that the clicking is an endless line of dominoes, gradually increasing in size, all set in motion by one simple comment about wanting to paint one room.  I should have expected it.  I have been tricked by this before.  I remember the new bath mats that turned into re-carpeting the house.  I also remember, all too well, the time that Sylvia got ten free rolls of leftover sod from someone who was putting in a lawn down the street.  That one cost me a month and a half of work, a new fence, a bobcat and dump truck rental, two pallets of construction blocks, and about twenty five hundred dollars!  Good times!  ***click***  (but the yard does look good)

I think I will be OK.  I have been dealing with falling dominoes for decades.  I am just hoping that the last domino isn't set to fall on me!  Did I mention that Kristiana wants me to paint pink and black zebra stripes on her walls?
**CLICK!**

Wanted! Dead or Alive!!

I am sensing a theme lately.  The past few blogs have been about my past vehicles and I have another "car story" set to tee off this morning.  It may be that we have been clearing things out of the garage and back yard so I keep bumping into these vehicles.  It may be that I am on a vision quest to obtain a new truck.  It may just be a coincidence.  So after writing about my motorcycle and my Datsun (Which still has a disappointing zero bids in the auction to sell it...perhaps I should lower the starting bid to $24, 999) in the past few days, I thought I would write about a car that wasn't technically mine.

It seems like yesterday.  Which isn't all that odd since it actually was yesterday...but I digress.  It all started when my friend Mark called me, out of the blue, to see if I wanted to go see Captain America.  Sylvia had taken the kids to the water park/roller coaster haven a few towns away, and I was working in my classroom.  I was just at the point where I had more things to do but no more desire to do them.  It was the perfect storm of, "Sure! I'd love to go!"  

Mark told me that he wanted to drive so he could put some miles on the newly installed engine in his classic car.  Mark is a 'car guy' and I suspect that he was born somewhere in the Ford Galaxie but that is a blog (and movie line...anyone?) for another day.  Mark is also who I drove with, for roughly 36 hours, to go to the Arizona mission last year.  He brought about 300 hours of music on cd's.  I never ran out of stories.  Someone who endured my stories, for that long, and still wants to sit next to me in a car...deserves a medal.  

Well, as we were coming home from the theater, and getting on the freeway, Mark hit the gas, the speedometer rose, I was pressed back in my seat, and I said, "This reminds me of a story."  

Mark threw his hands in the air, skidded to the side of the freeway, and told me to get out, screaming, "Everything reminds you of a story!  I can't take it!"

OK, so he didn't do that...but I'm pretty sure he was thinking it as I told the story of our old family car.  Growing up, my mom always wanted a car that would, "Get out of it's own way!"  To her, a slow car meant death and dismemberment so we always had a car with a little get up and go.  She also associated size with power so we had a series of boat-like vehicles with large engines to propel them down the street, freeway, or drag-strip...(just kidding Mom).  One of my favorites was the car we had when I first learned to drive.  It was and Oldsmobile 98 and it had an impressive 454 motor in it.  Since the car was huge it wasn't all that fast taking off from a stoplight, but if you weren't careful to obey all the proper speed limits and safety precautions mandated by the state to ensure peace and tranquility among the people...(kids are you listening?)...then it would go from 55 to 85+ in the blink of an eye!  I think I may have done that once, on accident, on a closed track...do not attempt this at home. (kids, seriously you need to pay attention here)

I loved that car and its over sized power-plant and was sad when it came time to park it at the curb and buy a new more reliable, but equally huge, car.  I had a VW bug by then, and was paying for my own gas, so I didn't ever drive it anymore.  It was showing its age with rust and holes in the vinyl top but it was still a great car.

Then one day there was a knock at the door and Dad went outside for a while.  When he came back in he said, "I just sold the Olds."  

"What!?  When did you decide to do that?  Did you put it in the paper?  Was there a sign on it?"

"Nope, this guy just came up to the door and asked if we wanted to sell the car."

"That is weird.  How much did you get?"

"Three hundred dollars."

"What!!  I would have given you that!!" (to be fair, childhood loves are priceless, but even at that, three hundred sounded low)

"You didn't want that car, Jeff."

And that was the last we spoke about the car.

Until a few years later...and this is where the story gets good.  (thank you for not shouting out, 'FINALLY!')

There was another knock at the door and again Dad answered it and went outside.  When he came back in he told us that we had just been visited by the police.

"What?"
"Yeah.  He asked if we owned a tan Oldsmobile 98.  When I told him that we sold it a couple years ago he thanked me and turned around to walk away.  I stopped him and asked why he wanted to know about that car.  He said that it was the getaway car in an armed bank robbery in San Jose!  The guy didn't register it after he bought it."

After all the 'oohs' and 'ahhs' appropriate for exciting news like that in a boring suburban middle class household, we all thought, 'Hey he just walked away after you told him the car wasn't ours anymore.  That is not like the movies at all!'  But it gave us an idea... and we have been a bank robbing family ever since.  And when the police come to see if we own the getaway car we just say, "Nope not ours." and they walk away.  Simple as that.  After all...have you seen what they pay teachers these days!?