Category Archives: Young Adult Stories

“Can’t Breath!” By Chad Robert Parker

October 24, 2016Allergic ReactionsChad Robert Parker

We laid waste to another holiday meal. Then like all other Thanksgivings before it, bodies lie strewn about sleeping it off and contemplating whether it was worth gorging ourselves over. It felt like the refrigerator was resting on my chest. I figured if I lie there on the couch long enough the indigestion would work itself out. Yet every breath I took felt more and more compressed like I was trapped under a rock, in the confined air of a cave, in outer space.

Something was different. What was happening? I had visited my parent’s house many times before but never felt this way. I stepped out for fresh air. The walk with the kids down to the duck pond helped. I liked the theater room air. Surely it was just too much food: turkey, stuffing, cranberry, mashed potatoes, orange rolls, pie, and more. Maybe it was too little exercise or this was how getting older felt, but no one else looked to be struggling quite the same. The shallow breathing made me more tired. I survived the evening and felt better on the drive home.

Then it repeated at Christmas time. What was going on? I couldn’t understand it. No one else was experiencing this dragging feeling at all. It progressively got worse through the night. What was it about holidays? I had enjoyed many football and basketball games with family without this reaction. I couldn’t think straight. I needed oxygen. I retired to a bed for the evening. I insisted I just needed some rest but my wife worriedly watched my breathing closely. Then my brothers insisted I go to urgent care. I was breathing much better once we got there and they had no explanation. It was almost asthmatic, yet apparently symptomatic of the house.

The next time I visited I located the problem while retrieving a vacuum from where we get extra chairs. A strong smell of straw in the cold storage walls was accompanied by an allergic reaction of my lungs closing up within minutes. We don’t open that door anymore whenever I’m around.

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“Too Late,” By Chad Robert Parker

October 10, 2016DetentionChad Robert Parker

What would it be like to be a morning person? Does the sun shine brighter or the birds tweet sweeter? The idea of a body clock is nearly a foreign concept to me. I have probably woken up a couple times feeling “up and at ’em,” or maybe that was just indigestion.

Don’t get me wrong. Being an adult has necessitated the habit of waking up more readily. I get to work on time. But, the ill-fated truth is that some of my childhood habits inevitably creep back in. Some days I am worse than my office computer, which often takes an extra fifteen minutes to boot up.

My morning routine used to be a few slaps of the snooze button. I would milk every minute I could afford. Then I would race to the shower, throw on some clothes, and mix-up Carnation Instant Breakfast on may way out the door. Okay, not much has changed, except I guess I calculate the minutes I can spare a little bit better. Back in high school I still didn’t have it down to a Science, so-to-speak.

A kid on the bus started to feel threatened by me to the point that he began toting a knife to school. There was something not quite right about that kid. (But that’s another story: See Bus Stopper). I happened to be sick the day he was planning on knifing me. Rather than escalate the conflict I decided to get a rides to school from my mom. She had been driving the stragglers who missed the bus more and more anyway.

Then my tardy slips started piling up. Although my brothers knew the sure bet to being on time was to catch the bus it wasn’t fair to them. I was usually last to the car. I think I was a Senior. My first hour teacher would lecture me for being late, but five minutes didn’t matter to him, and I knew multiple tardy slips would not provoke detention from him. My brothers’ teachers were not so lenient, however. Sorry Scot. I should have insisted on taking his detention.

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“Who Needs A Hall Pass?” By Chad Robert Parker

October 3, 2016Skipping ClassChad Robert Parker

A couple Christian friends tentatively approached. They knew my standard not to watch R-rated movies and were curious to hear about what happened in Economics class the previous hour. Don’t ask me how R-rated movies became an integral part of the course. I figured they were only asking because they knew an R-rated movie was being shown, but I should have known better. In a small-town-school word gets around quickly, especially with an instance that stands out like this.

I told my friends how Mr. Meyerholtz threatened a quiz on the movie and he would fail me if I left. He even guarded the exit by standing in front of a closed door. I believed I could call his bluff. As important as he and I both knew grades were for me, and as stubborn as he was, I knew he did not have more resolve than me to win the point. At first I hunkered down in my chair. Defiantly I plugged my ears, closed my eyes, and laid my head on my desk. I said a silent prayer to ask what to do.

I thought the teacher would have to leave his post, even momentarily, to start the movie and then I would make my escape to the library–my sanctuary. I was supposed to have a library pass signed by my teacher for that hour, but they always knew what was going on. I wondered if the Principal knew and just looked the other way as well. The teacher was prepared. He had a remote and turned the movie on from where he stood. Just then a man child of a friend, Rob Hacquet, tapped me on the shoulder. He pushed past the teacher claiming he had to get a drink and waved me through the exit.

Little did I know English class, which I was now in, had an R-rated literature-related movie, to show us. My English teacher quietly excused me to go back to the library. That’s where I spent those two class periods the next couple days.

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Editor’s Note: “I feel to provide a disclaimer of sorts. My view is just one perspective that may or may not be shared by others. The portrayal is not intended to be the definitive source of said events, nor is one instance meant to define the characters of anyone portrayed here, as if it were a microcosm of anyone’s life. It is a simple memory, but it also can’t easily be safeguarded by simply changing names, as though those who knew me would not know I attended Covington High School, not know the story referenced or the players involved, and not have formed their own opinions about who each of us were then and even who we have become now. I take full credit for my telling this non-generic tale as given above.” –-Chad Parker

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“Crowd Rafting” By Chad Robert Parker

July 19, 2016River RaftingChad Robert Parker

I loved river rafting with my family down the Snake River in Jackson Hole. I highly recommend it. They didn’t supply a river guide, which made my mom a little uneasy, upon learning we would face some Class III rapids. She was reassured by seeing families being told that unless it was a Class IV or higher, kids of all ages were making the run. Our company was composed mostly of adults.

We stationed ourselves with experienced paddlers on the outside and the others in the middle. There were a few upsy-daisy moments when your stomach falls to the floor then raises to your throat. Waves splashed against the hot plastic. The day was blazing hot and the breeze through our hair was welcome. The main current keeps you steadily pacing downstream whether your boat is in a spin or not. We opted to paddle hard with the nose usually pointing forward in case we headed for the bank. Before we knew it we were near the biggest wave below a highway view of onlookers. We’d seen it when we drove in, but the ride had lulled us into a mistaken security and the nose of our raft was not pointing correctly.

Sideways we went. The crowd grabbed the attention of those around them. You could hear their anticipation, expecting this would not end well for us. Some uninitiated before us had flipped out of their boats, but far too few. Our pride was on the line. My dad calmed the troops. “Steady. Keep paddling on the right.” He beckoned to me, on the left, sitting on the opposite back corner from him to wait. “When I say, put your oar in deep.” As much as everyone was paddling the raft was righting its path straight into the massive wave, still the hull wasn’t turning head on. I followed my orders and at the last moment thrust my oar along with my dad’s in as a rudder. We floated straight and true and didn’t take a swim. Cheers rose up from our boat followed by sighs of disappointment from above.

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“Who Wears the Pants?” By Chad Robert Parker

May 9, 2016Worst DateChad Robert Parker

When you “go dutch,” it’s difficult to know who wears the pants. Even if responsibility for payment transfers to one person it still isn’t always clear. I found that out when I met someone who will remain anonymous. For me I have at least one thing in common with anyone I meet. I try to focus on that when meeting a wide range in the dating game. Some years ago I befriended a redhead who fit most of the stereotypes. She was forward and fiery. She asked me out on a date.

These days I am told that it is flattering for guys to be asked out. Not so fast. I was skeptical at best of this mixed up approach. You see something has already broken down, and someone is missing the boat, when a girl resorts to that with me. If I were interested I am certain I would not have been shy about asking her out. She had certainly done more than her part to drop hints and flirt and show how she liked my friendly nature. In her case, it was almost coming on too strong, but I’m a gentlemen and took it in stride.

She called me up. I agreed to a date. She chose the Clark Planetarium in Salt Lake City, a good date stop. I have been there often, for better or worse, before and since with varied success. I responded enthusiastically to her date idea.

Then she asked me what day and time I would pick her up. I guess at this point she was shifting responsibility back to the man. I hadn’t thought about using my gas. I figured we would grab a nearby train. We could each pay for our own. She then informed me of our time constraints. I picked her up according to her plan.

When we arrived to pay for tickets she literally took two steps back. I paid. When she wanted to eat at the most expensive restaurant, I chose the food court. I saw how far she would go and then did not go out again.

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“Wisdom Crackers” By Chad Robert Parker

February 29, 2016Wisdom Teethdental work, sleeping gas, wisdom teeth, wisdom teeth storyChad Robert Parker

Why do they call them wisdom teeth if we don’t need them? Mine were being removed my freshman year of college. The doctor told me how it would go, started me counting, and was partway into the procedure–which did disturb me a little bit–before I suddenly realized I was waking up from surgery. I was done.

I was a little disoriented, but the same cute nurse I remembered when I went in was there cleaning up. She mumbled a question. Actually, she probably spoke clearly, but I couldn’t tell. I was coherent enough to figure out that she asked me if I knew where I was. I tried to respond but my mouth was impeded with gauze. For a moment she explained about medicine and getting rest. Then she said she would go get my brother and tell him everything.

My older brother did well getting medicine, taking me home, and helping me get comfortable and rest for a few hours. When my other roommates got home they forgot for a moment that I had just gotten my wisdom teeth pulled earlier. They thought I was looking good, all things considered. I told them I felt great, but that I was hungry. They knew I could probably only eat soup but they invited me to join them and the neighbor girls for lunch. So I went with them to the Art City Trolley in Springville. I was changing out gauze between every tenth spoonful. As good as I was feeling I thought it wise that I didn’t bother getting any crackers with my soup. The girls thought we were nuts. It was the first time most of us had been there. Great service! Good food! Nice ambience! I highly recommend it.

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“Eternal Blind Date” By Kathy Burningham

November 27, 2015Blind DatesBlind date, college dating, High School Dance, High School Preference, how we met, traditional datingChad Robert Parker

High School Preference Ball – my date fell through. College Preference Ball – my sister couldn’t get the guy she wanted to go with her. He thought she was kidding because he was younger. She asked someone else, then he realized she meant it and agreed to go. She said, “then go with my little sister.” What could he say? We were both (he & I) scared and nervous, but we had a great time.

45 years later we are still having a great time!

(Note: Lots more details that make it a fun story, but it’s too long to share it all here).

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“My Turn to Drive” by Chad Robert Parker

September 26, 2015Driver's EducationChad Robert Parker

Driver’s Ed was a comedy of errors. Most high school students in my car had driven on a farm many times over. For me Driving School was my first chance behind the wheel, so most of the errors were mine.

My instructor had many quirks I had heard about. I knew he did not believe in deodorant and his odor accelerated with the stress of teaching driving. He had a habit of picking his nose and flicking the boogers out the window. What I didn’t know is he took it for granted that some kids had never paid much attention to driving. Coming from a large family, and usually avoiding the drama of fighting over the front seat, I was a back seat learner.

My first mistake was asking how to turn the turn signal off. My instructor showed me by jerking the steering wheel just to change lanes. I figured out later that the steering wheel was not the only way to get the turn signal to turn off.

My mimicry of one of my peers didn’t go unnoticed. He squealed tires pulling into a parking spot but parked perfectly within the lines. My attempt was not so good. I was practically sideways.

My friends describe the time I came to a “T” in the road. The instructor did not say “right” or “left” when I asked for his directions. I ended up going straight, only I skidded to a stop just before launching off the road. They tell me they were afraid every time it was my turn to drive. Luckily for them I was better than my older brother who literally jumped railroad tracks when he failed to slow down for a hill. Luckily for small town Indiana the Parker boys escaped Driver’s Ed without greater incident.

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“Sleep Driving” By Chad Robert Parker

September 21, 2015Driving HoursChad Robert Parker

I could not conceive how real the danger of sleeping at the wheel was until I nearly drove off of the road. My dad was in the passenger side. We were making the 24 hour trek from Indiana to Utah. I think we were somewhere in Nebraska.

My dad can shell a mouthful of sunflower seeds with his tongue to keep his mind awake, a trick he learned from trucking. We don’t drink coffee considering how caffeine leaves you lower than before the brief high. I’m personally not as fond of sunflower seeds and they say turning up the radio among other things is not very effective for most. I watched entranced as the middle lines went by on an endless stretch of well-paved road ahead. The sun blurred waves sat on the horizon. The rumble strip got my attention. “Are you all right?” My dad asked. I looked at him groggily and nodded. It was embarrassing. There wasn’t any reason for me to be tired already. I had been napping a few times in route before getting in the driver’s seat. I had only been driving an hour. The rumble strip sounded again. “Are you sure you are all right?”

“Yeah, I just got out of my lane a little.” I felt a little more self aware now. I was tired but I wouldn’t fall asleep would I? I went a good distance farther. The next time I went over the rumble strip I had half of the car over the outside line. My dad placed his hand on the wheel. He instructed me to pull over. It scared me to think how easily I could have veered off into a ditch. I apologized and he assured me that it was okay to let someone else drive even though I hadn’t given anyone much relief time. I was asleep in the passenger side within a few minutes of that conversation.

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“Bunt Double” By Chad Robert Parker

August 17, 2015Worst coachChad Robert Parker

I gripped the bat, took a few practice swings, then looked for the sign. My coach went through his routine dance of messages and shocked me with a bunt sign in between. I hadn’t even practiced bunting all year long. I was a fast runner but the context for this call didn’t make much sense to me and truth be known I didn’t trust nor like my coach one bit.

I ignored the sign and stepped into the batter’s box. I watched a pitch go by high. Seeing no indication that I was going to heed the sign my coach gave the same actions more emphatically. I shook my head. The coach yelled at me telling me that he was the coach and I will do what he asks. I fumed and then shook my head again. “Time out!” He yelled and then stomped his way down the third baseline. I don’t recall what he said in his rage, but he gave up the bunt sign to everyone on the field as he shouted out his demands.

I thought it was funny. I’m not normally a rebel. We hadn’t won many games all year. I just plain didn’t respect him. He couldn’t withhold more playing time as I was already riding the bench most of the time. But he knew he needed me for my hitting as I led the team with my .333 batting average.

I stepped up to the plate. The infielders all moved in anticipating my bunt. The catcher guffawed, “Man, you really don’t like your coach.” I smirked but my eye’s were narrowed in on the pitcher. “Nope,” I said. “And I’m not bunting.” The pitch followed shortly behind my statement and I cracked it to the fence–a stand up double. I stood on second base clapping toward my coach. He threw his hat down, stepped on it, and crushed it into the ground. I ran two miles during the next practice as punishment for the two bases I reached. Yeah, that didn’t make much sense to me either.

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