Category Archives: All Ages

“The Girl From My Dreams” By Chad Robert Parker

November 14, 2016De Ja VuChad Robert Parker

There was something familiar about that girl. It was more than talking with her at a single’s conference two years prior. I didn’t want to assume she was the dark black curly haired girl from my recurring dream, with her warm embrace that always brought me comfort and peace of knowing everything was wonderful.

She had gained the interest of several guys on the dance floor. One handsome gentleman jotted down her number. That did not deter me. In fact, it gave me courage seeing she was willing to give her number out to someone she just met. I knew she wouldn’t likely remember me from all the other guys she had met since, but I confidently mentioned how we had met before. I asked her to dance and we had a nice conversation. I told her it was nice to see her again and easily transitioned into asking if I could call on her sometime. A couple days later we scheduled a date.

For some reason her toes of all things triggered something of a flashback. Yeah, her painted toenails and her stylish sandals with the flower atop the strap. It was like something I’d seen before, but I knew I hadn’t. That was the first moment of De Ja Vu. The next was something she said in the car. It was like we had been on this exact date before. I simply took her for ice cream, the type of date that I had often been on, so I chalked it up to routine. I resolved to take her on a more formal date to live theater next. In between, I typed up a devotional (as the transcript would not be ready for a while) that I had heard the next week, which seemed especially apropos for her. She thanked me profusely. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling. We walked a dog the next date. There it was again. Almost every significant thing we did felt repeated. I asked her about it after she turned me down for a fourth date and she thought I was crazy.

Share this:

“In A Hurry To Wait” By Chad Robert Parker

November 7, 2016Emergency RoomChad Robert Parker

My mom came rushing into the house. “Your dad rolled the ATV. He needs to go to the hospital.” I was slow to the uptake. This meant grab your coat. You’re driving him there.

A thousand things went through my mind. My mom was way too calm for this to be too dire. “What happened? Is he okay?” She assured me it was just his arm but that I needed to hurry. His doctor’s office might still be open but if we needed to we would go to the ER.

The ER took us right in. We walked past a lot of other patients in varying levels of discomfort. They let my dad sit in a small upright bed. My dad was writhing in pain at times but not groaning and moaning like others we walked by. I’m sure his head was not clear. He was wincing. He asked if a little pain medicine was too much to ask for. It seemed silly to ask the doctor when they would attend to him considering the other needs around.

30-40 minutes seemed like forever to get a diagnosis. It gave me a chance to hear more details about the accident, however. I guess my dad was going up a slope and caught on a rock sideways. He knew the ATV was going over and pushed it off him as best he could as it went by. It held up on the embankment below perched atop a cliff.

The medicine would take affect in another 30-40 minutes. They looked over his arm and braced it up good. He had significant bruising and obviously damaged the bone, but they would not be able to do much to see if he needed a cast until the swelling went down. He went back to his doctor in the coming days and it was found that the bone had lifted off of itself in a painful forearm split. It would take several days in a soft cast before he would recover. I think his hand still has some nerve damage, but it could have been much worse.

Share this:

“Car Tomb” By Chad Robert Parker

September 26, 2016Road TripChad Robert Parker

My parents grew up rarely using seat-belts if you had them at all. We kids grew up unbuckling are seat-belts to lay down and sleep, especially during long road trips. Today’s kids are buckled into a car-seat for more than half of their childhood. Each scenario has the possibility for some interesting stories.

We used to lay the middle mini-van seat back as a bed connecting to the back bench. One of us would sleep on the floor underneath the back rest. There was very little light and with the chair on your chest you felt there wasn’t much air either. But if you controlled your breathing you could fall asleep. Usually my brothers were playing a car board game or talking above me so I knew I could reach up and get someone’s attention if I wanted out. There were a few times I woke up in a panic, however. You could yell pretty good and with the road noise and the other commotion they didn’t always here you. I remember yelling, slapping my hand up the side hole where there wasn’t enough room to squeeze your body out of, and finally pinching a brother’s leg before getting out once.

One of our friend’s wanted to give it a try. He was probably 10 years old. We checked on him a couple times and he said he was good. After a while we even covered the seating with blankets so we all could get some sleep. He woke up in the dark. His hot breath was coming back to him in close proximity to his coffin-like surroundings. He slapped the cushions above him but that didn’t make any noise. He started screaming. It took a while before he was able to rouse any of us. He came out sweaty and looking sick from fear. He told us how he forgot where he was and it freaked him out more than he had ever felt before. From then on we made sure someone stayed awake when anyone was down there, but we also didn’t go down there as much.

Share this:

“Mr. Miyagi Coaches Soccer” By Chad Robert Parker

September 19, 2016Favorite CoachChad Robert Parker

My favorite coach would have to be my dad, who dedicated countless hours devoted to teaching his kids teamwork, strategy, and the sheer enjoyment of playing sports competitions. My dad coached several of my teams. We won a lot of games together in baseball and soccer. A close second of my coaches was an assistant to my dad who reminded me a lot of the mentor in Karate Kid.

He was also named Mr. Miyagi. Safe fun was the main aspect he focused on. He had incentives for the offense and the defense and the whole team. If we won a game he would take the whole team out for ice cream for example. I remember how jovial he was, smiling and laughing, as we subbed out of a game. “Get some rest.” “Get some water.” “Oh, and get some candy for energy.” “You’re going back in soon.” He would say. We had jolly ranchers that I would suck on as I drank my water. Then I would get back into the game and play as hard as I could knowing we could sub at that age level as much as the coaches wanted.

Then I graduated from the city league into high school soccer. I used to practice or play a game and then come over to help my dad and his assistant with their soccer team. I would run drills and play keep away and give their team a higher level of offense to defend against. One day I came hobbling over after a high school scrimmage. I had twisted an ankle. It was already swelling and bruising.

Mr. Miyagi wanted to take a look. He was a scientist and had a doctoral degree. He knew a lot about musculature, ligaments, and bones. He held my calf in one hand and my ankle in the other, examined it, rubbed and pinpointed some areas to see where it hurt. Only twisting it hurt. He distracted me momentarily. With a quick painful twist, I yelped, but amazing relief followed and I was able to play without difficulty the next day.

Share this:

“Rivalry or Hatred?” By Chad Robert Parker

August 15, 2016Spectator SportChad Robert Parker

In 1999, I saw one of the ugliest sides of the BYU/Utah rivalry close-up: the time when the BYU fan tackled the male Ute cheerleader. You could say the BYU freshman-to-be was to blame for everything, but I think it goes deeper. I would say the overall underlying hate in the rivalry played more a part than any actual animosity between key players in this notable instance. One thing led to another. Pride took over and hate spilled over. The rivalry went too far.

Where was the playful rivalry I was accustomed to as between two neighboring high schools? LaVell Edwards and Ron McBride didn’t have anger toward their opponent. Why were the fans getting out of hand?

It started innocently enough. The Ute cheerleaders always ran flags around the endzone after a Utah score. No big deal! One of the cheerleaders, however, started using the opportunity to taunt the home crowd with increased jeering and gestures. He acted like he was taking on the whole stadium. Still, it was just a hothead cheerleader, so why were fans like me, allowing him to rile up untoward emotions?

My brother and I weren’t ten rows from the pranksters. The BYU fan seemed to think it funny to take the dumb advice–a dare, or whatever you want to call it–of his buddies and get the last laugh. They lowered him onto the field, and he ran over and made the tackle. We saw what was going on, but didn’t exactly know what they were up to. We couldn’t believe our eyes. He triumphantly raised his hands in silly fashion after he succeeded. I was in shock. What just happened?

He did what all of us wanted to do to that cocky cheerleader, but it was wrong, even illegal. Did he not think how he would react if someone unexpectedly jumped him in a heated environment?

The cheerleader chased him, goaded him, and tackled him, but he covered up rather than fight back. The embarrassed cheerleader kept punching until he was pulled off. Security guards took the smiling trespasser away.

Share this:

“Happily Soaked in Refreshment” By Chad Robert Parker

August 11, 2016DroughtChad Robert Parker

When it rained it poured. I had never seen anything like it. Each drop splashed like its own water balloon. But we hadn’t seen rain for months. It was a season of El Ninyo.

Even the locals commented on the heat. The Philippines was said to have two seasons: hot and hotter. This was the hottest year anyone could remember. We all were rationing water. The usually wet rice fields were drying up. Fish ponds had gone down and trenches had to be dug from the sea.

When it did rain it came in waves: on and off like a switch. During typhoon season I’m sure there was such thing as wet and wetter, but I suppose this was the one good thing about a season of drought. We didn’t experience any significant tropical storms that year.

Even the Water Buffalo hole was drying up. The water was long gone. The mud was starting to thicken. We wanted to jump in the mud and roll around to cool down too.

Parched, we didn’t dare drink water offered us that wasn’t purified. My sweat had dried up, a difficult thing to accomplish in the humid air. The sun was blazing. We dragged our feet like we were crossing a dessert only we could move from the narrow shade of one coconut tree trunk to the next. Finally we reached a “tindahan,” or a small “sari sari” store, and it truly was a sorry offshoot of someone’s nippa hut. They had liter sprites. We guzzled them down in one or two tips of the green bottle, glistening beautiful water droplets trickling down the side. The only thing that stopped us from drinking it down faster was the carbonation but even that didn’t slow us down much. Suddenly the sweat from our dried pours released, soaking our white button up shirts. I wiped my forehead with my tie. The air as hot as it was, without a trace of wind, and still humid, would not take the hot water off our skin.

That is my most memorable experience of a drought.

Share this:

“Elephant Ears and Tractor Pulls” By Chad Robert Parker

August 6, 2016City ParkChad Robert Parker

For a small town our community held a lot of big events. Everyone knew everyone. We gathered for regular Friday night baseball games and you expected to see everyone in town at one event or another. There was yearly carnivals, fireworks shows, pig kissing, and art shows. Our town’s activities had a unique appeal, a unique identity: it’s own unique flavor, if you will, at least it did for me. I soon embraced it.

I ate my first Elephant Ear, a flat fried pastry covered in cinnamon sugar, at the Covington City Park. I went with my parents and rarely left their side. This was not because of their strict Mormon ways as many supposed, but simply because I was shy and the town’s ways were all new to me. Besides, I liked spending time with my family, even my parents, believe it or not. We tried our hands at the typical carnival games, unable to win a prize, being bested by the ring toss’s parlor tricks among other deceptively challenging games. I was never one for thrill rides. I saw the Carnival workers putting together the rides and I wasn’t certain I trusted their handiwork. There was rumor of several test runs failing prior to opening day. No, I didn’t quite get into that.

My favorite event of all was the tractor pull. I had never seen anything like it. At the time I would not admit how fun it was to watch. I was too busy trying to act like I didn’t identify with farmer boots, songs, or anything else related. But I loved the revving of the engines, the smoke puffing into the air, the tractors rearing back and mud flying into the faces of people pulled on a bed spring. It was hard not to pick a tractor you wanted to see win and to find yourself laughing and cheering with everyone else.

Share this:

“Today’s Pioneers” By Chad Robert Parker

July 23, 2016PioneersChad Robert Parker

Utah celebrates Pioneer Day on July 24th each year to recognize the Pioneers who crossed the plains and settled into the state. When I recently moved homes I thought of the Pioneers. I used to live near Nauvoo, Illinois where the Mormon Pioneers began their journey.

It’s a long ways, even by car. I have made that drive more than a few times. The landscape changes drastically. I can’t even imagine the sacrifices of walking through winter snow, losing loved ones to the extreme cold, and leaving so much behind.

When my wife and I moved from my first home I felt some of the grief of picking up and starting again. We, of course, got to keep most of our belongings. But with the down economy striking shortly after me making the house investment we needed to hit the reset button. I felt like I was handing over my baby. I wondered where we would land next. I hoped we would be like the Pioneers in two ways: 1) Leave the place we had as nice for the next occupants; and 2) Look forward to any opportunities ahead.

I remember being in awe with the Mormon Pioneers who were basically pushed out of their homes before the mobs came through with malicious intent and the authority of an extermination order from the government. I was shocked by how they cleaned up their homes to be as presentable as can be. Some placed their fine china down the well to protect it from looting and fire, but they still had to leave it behind for whoever might come along and hopefully take good care of it and benefit by it. That’s how we tried to leave our home as we downgraded to our current living standards.

Writer’s don’t often make enough but that’s the road we are traveling down. No matter. We are happy. We are looking forward to making the most of each new day.

Happy Pioneer Day, world!

Share this:

“Hip Sliding Away” By Chad Robert Parker

July 11, 2016WaterslidesChad Robert Parker

As kids we used to put a tarp at the bottom of the waterslide to pool all the water. It made for a fun splash zone. I’m a big chicken so I don’t have much experience with real waterpark slides. I’ve heard of block party slides that cities are setting up along roadways. The best waterslide I have been on was a makeshift slide of three 30×10 foot billboard vinyls attached together.

We formed trains of people running one after the other and grabbing ankles for a slick ride. We raced. We surfed as far as possible and tried to catch a football on the way down.

I had a bad hip from popping it out of place in a recent indoor soccer game. I must have been about 28 years old and I was thinking there was no way I was going to sit this event out like an old man. After a few times down I tried sliding on my feet and quickly crashed down on my bad hip. I was writhing in pain all the way down the slide. Then someone at the side of the slide grabbed my ankle and sent me spinning. I slid across the grass holding my hip. A mass of humanity followed and piled on top of me where I was unable to get up out of the way. I stuck around to watch others but I didn’t go down the slide again that day. It was hard enough just walking up the hill. I felt like an old man, after all.

Share this:

“Fireworks like the 4th of July? Or war zone?” by Chad Robert Parker

July 4, 2016FireworksChad Robert Parker

The craziest fireworks display I’ve ever seen didn’t come on the fourth of July. When I lived in the Philippines from 1997-1999 I learned that Christmas or New Year’s eve rivaled anything I’d ever witnessed in America. The fireworks weren’t so colorful but more people had them and it sounded more like artillery. In 1998, I felt like I was in the middle of a war zone more than at any other time in my life.

We had just returned home, my mission companion and I, right before the sun went down. We thought we arrived safely ahead of the commotion. The natives don’t usually start the explosions flying until closer to midnight.

The neighbor who lived below us must not have gotten the memo. He’d already tipped enough bottles to be quite tipsy himself. We didn’t know much about him. He kept a low profile. We had heard that you don’t want to owe him past due or he could get ugly collecting from his illegal underground gambling scheme.

Like us he was a foreigner, only he was from Pakistan or maybe it was India. Anyway, I’ve never been to either place. Judging by my neighbors enthusiasm for fireworks I expect they have a good time celebrating, too. I stood in awe at the spectacle when my companion waved for me to get down. He was hiding behind the wheel of a vehicle. Fearing this crazy man laughing hysterically might have an unknown vendetta and take aim at me, I obeyed.

When we looked over the hood of the car we saw that the man had lit a big string of M-80 style crackles hung up like a banner in front of the apartment entryway. The locals described the fireworks as homemade from newspapers and gunpowder, created and stockpiled for this occasion in nipa-huts throughout the year. Not only were these firing off he was lighting off several bottle rockets. These projectiles zipped over the car at us. He scurried around maniacally and set off more ground bombs. We were out of breath laughing, just happy to survive the excitement!

Share this: