Wading in the Wood

I'd sit on his lap in that big old Buick and steer as we drove through town
He'd tousle my hair and say son take a good look around 
This is your hometown 
-  Bruce Springsteen "My Hometown"

Part 1:

My hometown is Inwood, Iowa. On a map, Inwood is a pinpoint of humanity surrounded by farmland, not forest. I suppose at one time the name Inwood was accurate, though. 

Inwood's population stood on its tiptoes to touch 550 when I was born. That seems like a petite sum now, but five hundred and fifty people is a towering number to a toddler. Inwood was my world. No other place existed. 

Children grow into their hometowns like plants in the spring. Fingernails sow the dirt with chubby, crawling fingers. The sunshine warms round, rolling torsos on blankets of grass. Vitalizing pools of well water are absorbed in to the skin. As a child shoots up, their roots dig deep. Unknowingly, they become part of the land.

Mobility only deepens this bond. First, the front house steps are conquered, and then the back yard. The surrounding sidewalks are traversed, as is the gravel alley that slices the block in two. When that square of homes has been escaped, the surrounding neighborhood is explored. Children will eventually discover, and then memorize, the whole town. The pathways, bike trials, and paved streets will be spun into them like double helices of DNA. 

If a person moves to that same small town, they will never have that connection. They may call it their home, but it cannot be their hometown. You have to be born to a place to share its pulse.

In Inwood I knew where all the best bike jumps were. I knew which trees had branches like ladder rungs. I knew where to look for lost change in the laundry mat. I knew which church door to sneak through to slake my summer thirst. I knew which nozzle in the pool's dressing room stung the least. I knew which house had the best Halloween candy. 

I knew Inwood by heart, and Inwood knew mine. A village does raise a child.

But the town was not my only friend. There were other boys in the wood. Even then I had no idea when all of us had met. Like my older sister, they had always been there. We did what was required of boys, which meant we crashed our bikes, threw rocks at passing railroad cars, and got kicked out of the pool for jumping in during rest break. Our kites were ensnared by telephone lines. Our new clothes returned home dirty and torn.

Describe Inwood in one sentence: The farm tractors were adorned with bunting for the 4th of July parade. 

Then my dad changed jobs. My parents bought a new house in a new town. Rock Valley was only 14 miles away, but that distance might as well be 14,000. When we left Inwood, we didn't look back.

My hometown tendrils had been severed. Untethered, I was floating over foreign soil. I had lost my home, my yard, my friends, and even my name. I was no longer Brent. I was "new kid."

I drifted in and out of the assigned Summer Recreational programs alone. I might have made friends if I was a gifted athlete, but in that regard, I had arrived empty handed. The kids in Rock Valley didn't need or want me there. Why would they? I had nothing of value to offer. They already had each other and their hometown roots were still attached.

I was about to enter 4th grade, but I was already nine years behind the rest of the class.

Part 2: 

This is just a variation on a theme. I've written about my days in Inwood and Rock Valley many times before. This time I was inspired by the introduction in The Best American Travel Writing 2019 - a gift from Daphne. In it, editor Alexandra Fuller writes of her home country, Zimbabwe, and how it is, "...like the home of a few of the writers in this piece, no longer the place I knew as a child..."

I began to wonder what I would find if I was to walk the streets of Rock Valley today, and then I corrected myself. I graduated from Rock Valley High School, but Rock Valley isn't my hometown. 

That a title belongs to Inwood. 

But why? I lived in both towns for nine years, and I wasn't even conscious of my environment for the first few years in Inwood. Doesn't that tip the hometown scales towards Rock Valley? No. It doesn't. I wasn't born in two places - only one. 

I wrote the Part 1 to this post as a way to explore how a hometown could possibly become so important to someone. I don't know if I was successful in that endeavor, but it was fun imagining how a town can become one with a child. 

While considering the importance of birthplaces, I have come to believe that there are three facts to accept: you can't choose your family, and you can't choose your birthplace, but both have an influence on who you are. I'll always sound like my dad when I swear, and the smell of burning leaves will whisk me back to a crisp, fall day when I was five. That can't be helped, and it is nothing to be ashamed of. 

Birthplace matters. But for some, it matters too much.

Years ago, I attended a wedding in northeast Iowa. While standing in line to use the bathroom, I overheard two men discussing the groom. One said to the other, "He's a decent enough guy, I guess. And he treats her right, but he's from Cedar Rapids."
The other sniffed loudly and said, "Yeah... well, you ain't shit if you ain't from the corner." They both nodded in agreement.

If you're like me, and not from the corner, then they were talking about us, too.

There's no doubt that I had fun in Rock Valley. I made some good friends, and I have a lot of fond memories. But there always seemed to be an unspoken agreement that I was only at the party because they let me be there. After nine years, I was still just a guest. 

In the movie Jaws, Sherriff Brody's wife Ellen asks her friend, "I just want to know one simple thing. When do I get to become an islander?"
"Ellen, never. Never. You're not born here, you're not an islander. That's it."

Here is fact number four: Your family and your birthplace do not define you. Sorry wedding guest #2 (cwidt), I am not from your parochial corner, and you are not better than me because of that. Sorry Mom, I do swear like Dad, but I promise I won't make the same decisions that he made.

So, I'm back to my initial question. What would I find if I walked the streets of Inwood today? With the help of Google Maps, I can take a virtual tour of the bustling main street.

I pointed and clicked my way past the ball field, the park, and the pool. I also passed the two houses we lived in. Even from this electronic distance, I could see that they are all much smaller than I remembered. No surprise there.

I've got nothing against the town, but I don't think I'll put "Visit Inwood Again" on my bucket list. There isn't anything there for me now.

Thousands of years ago Heraclitus said it better than I can today, "No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man." 

Ironically, The Best American Travel Writing 2019 has inspired me to not travel this time. But only not down a path to a past that has faded away.

None of the boys I knew would still be in Inwood. They've grown up, too. If I met one of those men, what would we have to say to each other?  Nothing. We wouldn't know the other, and it wouldn't matter if we did.

Another boy from the wood grew up and moved to Des Moines like I did. He's also a high school teacher. With a shared past and a similar present, you might think we have all kinds of things to talk about. We don't. The last time we saw each other, we pretended we didn't and kept walking. That was Inwood. Those days are gone.

It's important to know your roots. They tell you where you come from. But your growth above ground is where you are going.

I believe I'll stop here and read some of the essays in The Best American Travel Writing 2019. Perhaps I'll be inspired to visit a place that actually exists. 

Personal Record

I bought this can of shaving cream for our trip to the Black Hills last summer. I wanted something cheap that I wouldn't miss if it got left behind in a hotel room. That was on June 8.

In August I was surprised to notice that I was still using the same can of Barbasol, and I wondered how long it was going to last.

This morning the can ran out... 265 days after I bought it. I only lather once a shave, and I try not to be wasteful, but c'mon, I had no idea one can was going to last almost nine months.

Consider me a Barbasol guy from now on.

"People Who Enjoy Meetings Should Not Be in Charge of Anything." - Thomas Sowell

As seen in the living room this morning...

I think one of Charlotte's Squishmallows is having too much fun.

Tools by Any Other Name - An Update

I've been carrying this Leatherman multi-tool with me for years. It is incredibly handy. 

In 2013, I wrote about using it to cut Char' straws down to size when we are at restaurants. 

I wanted a Leatherman Juice S2 because I knew someone else who owned one. I was surprised by the $60 price tag, so I turned to my friends on eBay. I bought my Juice S2 for half that from a recently retired Leatherman employee. The seller stated that they were given the tool with their name engraved on one side, but their name wasn't stated anywhere in the listing. It was a mystery. 

Here's the seller's name.

Daphne and I have jokingly called the S2 "LaVerta" so often, the name has stuck. If we are out and about and something needs to be cut or tightened, Daphne will ask me, "Do you have LaVerta with you?" Without thinking, I'll fish her out of my pocket.

Charlotte has grown up with this, and she asks for it by name without a hint of humor, "Dad, where's LaVerta? I need to cut this string."

LaVerta has a nice patina from years of service, but she's as sharp as ever.

I received my first pocketknife when I was about Charlotte's age. I thought about buying another S2 for her, but Leatherman retired that model. I looked for a suitable replacement and settled on the Squirt PS4. It's smaller than the S2, but has shares some of the same tools. It should fit Char's hands nicely.

I noticed that the Leatherman site offers engraving for a small fee.

Hmm... why not? 

The real LaVerta lived in Oregon when I bought her Leatherman. I hope she doesn't mind that there is a family in Iowa that uses her name on a weekly basis. 

The next time Charlotte asks me for my LaVerta, I can say, "You know, I think it's about time you had your own." 

Family traditions... you never know how they are going to start. 

Update: 2/18/2020

I decided to give Charlotte her LaVerta for Valentine's Day. It's red and white, and that seemed appropriate. Char was so excited when she opened the Leatherman box and found her LaVerta inside. She pumped her fist in the air and hollered, " YESSS!" This was followed by, "I can't believe you got me a pocketknife! What made you think of it?" She explored the available tools, and when she opened the knife blade, she pointed it at invisible foes and threatened, "Die fiends!" She then folded the blade into the tool, stood up, and walked over to give me a hug, "I love it, Dad."

I was probably more excited about that gift than she was. I talked to several people at work about how thrilled she was with her multi-tool.

The next day Daphne was gone for a jazz competition, so I had Char to myself. In the morning I thought it would be a good idea for Char to use her LaVerta to open the gift box for Valentine's day that Grandma Betty had sent her. 

We discussed knife safety like cutting in the direction that is away from her body, but I apparently wasn't thorough enough. She was bleeding two seconds later. I tried to calm her down and assure her that she had not cut off her thumb. We went upstairs to get a Band-Aid, and while wiping her tears away, I talked her into getting back on her horse and trying again. 

Char attempted to get the blade under the cardboard flap, but she shoved it into the corrugated edge instead. Before I could stop her, Charlotte attempted to cut through the corrugation, which she couldn’t do. When she increased pressure, the blade jumped free and cut her palm. 

**“Owwww!” Tears flow, again. Paper towel pressure applied, again. Tissues for tears, again. Upstairs for a Band-Aid, again.**

I couldn’t make myself hand her the LaVerta, again, so I opened the package, and she consoled herself by eating a few marshmallow Unicorn Horns. Neither injury amounted to more than a papercut, but I felt disappointed, angry, and guilty. Who wants to give their kid something that will hurt them? 

This was all my fault. I had essentially been bragging to my friends how I had found a “great” gift for Charlotte, and looked what happened. That's what you get for bragging... 

Who pays for the sins of the parents? The children do, of course. 

Daphne was practical about it when I told her what happened. She said, "Well, I guess she learned to be more respectful of sharp knives."

I suppose it is true that she will be around sharp edges for the rest of her life. But I still felt that this time the tool's name was Dad.

Xboxing a 360

We bought a used Xbox 360 last year so Char could play Minecraft at home. Now she has a friend who also plays that game, and the two would like to play together on Xbox Live.

I told her I'd look into it. But man, I really don't like learning new technology systems when I have zero interest in them. Plus, new tech is intimidating. I kept my promise, though, and started investigating Xbox Live. It felt like doing a dreaded homework assignment.

One thing I learned is that early Xbox consoles were often hacked so they would play pirate games and unauthorized software. Microsoft fought back by banning these consoles from Xbox Live in 2009. I had no idea if I had a modded/ banned player. There isn't a way to tell. I didn't want to throw away money on a Live subscription that wouldn't work.

I talked to one of my gamer students about it. He suggested using a 48-hour trial code, "They cost about a dollar. If your console is modded, then at least you wouldn't be out much money." That was sound advice. I bought this code from eBay, but I didn't tell Char about it in case the 360 was indeed modded.

Charlotte had a school dance on Friday night. I thought I could skip the dance and secretly work on the Xbox, but that was not in the plan. Char is on the left with a Mickey balloon. Balloon possession is a big deal at elementary dances.

She went to bed around 9:30, and I spent the next two hours trying to figure out how to redeem the code and access Xbox Live.

I kept getting error codes, and I had to look up each one to see what it meant and how to repair the error. Friday night is my favorite six hours of the week, and I gave up on the 360 when I realized how much of my evening I was wasting.

Saturday was a daddy-daughter day until the doorbell rang at 2:30. Char's friends were at the door, and I was left hanging like a forgotten paper receipt dangling from a gas pump. I consoled myself by going back to work on the 360. I could still be a hero if I could figure it out.

By 5:30 I had created my profile on microsoft.com (I'm PinchedFish 577), and Char was back home. I downloaded the profile to our player, and told her about my progress. Char nervously read me the 25 digit code, and it was accepted! Char danced around the room in excitement while I fired up Minecraft. She couldn't wait to go Live and do battle against unknown enemies.

But she did have to wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. The top of the screen read something like, "Battle cannot begin until 1 or more players enter the area." After 45 minutes I was pretty sure that I had somehow messed it all up. Char looked like a kid who had thrown a birthday party that nobody had come to. When she sadly turned off the 360, I said, "I'm sorry that it didn't work, Char."

She began to slowly walk up the stairs when she replied, "That's okay, Dad. Thank you for trying."

**dad-heart stabbed, removed, and pummeled with a sledge hammer**

I didn't want to mess around with this Xbox Live crap to begin with, but here I am with a girl wrapped in a disappointment blanket, and I was angry about that. I read the fine print on the 48-hour trial code, and I spotted this: "Xbox Live 48-trial allows access to online multiplayer gaming, but not other Gold membership features." Maybe that was the problem?

So, I quickly ordered this. Three months of Xbox Live for less than 17 bucks seemed okay.

I thought the code would show up instantly, but the confirmation email stated I'd get my card and code on February 11. What? I didn't see that in the ad.

So, I quickly ordered this. Two weeks of Xbox Live for less than four bucks seemed okay.

Two weeks would take us past the day the three month card/code would arrive. The 14-day code arrived immediately, and it worked flawlessly. So, I tried Minecraft Live after Char went to bed. It still didn't work. No one showed up to my party, either.

I then Googled the question I should have started with: Can you still play Minecraft Live on Xbox 360?

Here's the answer: Minecraft: Xbox 360 Edition can only be played with other Xbox 360 consoles on Xbox Live. The Xbox One edition can only be played online with other Xbox One consoles. There is no cross-platform play between the Xbox editions and other editions of Minecraft.

Okay. That settles that. Her friend plays on a new tablet, and there is no way they are going to be able to play Minecraft together. I doubt anyone else is standing in line online to play a version of a game that's 11 years old. I have wasted multiple evening hours and tens of dollars on this fiasco. 

Quick, I need to find a bright spot... doesn't the Xbox offer free games each month? I think I read that somewhere... The 14-day pass is supposed to have full access...

What? *insert sound of tires screeching to a halt here* Grrrr! I can't get to the free games, either? Can't I catch a break? 

While messing around I spotted this menu:

An A through Z game list? I explored the titles and came to screeching halt in the "G" list.

A Giana Sisters game? We love those girls. Char and I played their DS game last year and had a blast. They helped me kill hours during Char's swimming lessons. (I also played Giana's Return a lot when I was into Dreamcast home-brew.)

Twisted Dreams sounded like a great title. I downloaded the free trial, and Char was really impressed when she played it the next day, "Dad! This game is EPIC!"

I bought the game for $2.99, and Twisted Dreams is now permanently on our system  We couldn't have gotten this game any other way but through Xbox Live, and I can't tell you how much I emphasized this point to Char. "See, it does work, but just not the way we planned."

While playing Twisted Dreams, Char said, "Dad, I'm really glad you tried so hard to get Live working. Thanks soooo much!"

**dad-heart regrows in chest, begins to beat once more, and even swells a little**

Addendum: 

Turns out I was wrong, again. Charlotte's cousins, Josh and Zach, sent her some of their old 360 games via Grandma Betty (thanks, guys!). Char likes racing games, so I took Split Second out for a test drive when she wasn't around.

The Xbox Live feature works with Split Second, and I did stand in line to race others online in a game that's almost 11 years old. I was terrible, by the way. I kept driving off a cliff.

Char will love it, though.

Thumps Up for Daddy Daughter Day

I had Char to myself on Saturday, and I had an idea how I could combine our two favorite things. I love thrift stores, and Char loves Minecraft. I suggested that we hit a couple of Goodwill stores to see if they had any Minecraft t-shirts. Char was skeptical until I pulled this one off the rack. 

"Dad! It's three Creepers and a moon!" The shirt looks brand new, and it earns double points for being a long sleeve tee. 

The second Goodwill yielded this Minecraft constellation tee. Here's Charlotte modeling it after a dressing room test run. I just looked this up on Amazon, and I think the shirt might also glow in the dark. If so, she'll be even happier with it. (edit: It does glow.)

Two stores was Char's limit for thrift, so we went to McDonald's for lunch. For fun, I brought the laptop. She ate a Happy Meal while watching irritating kids play Minecraft and squeal loudly.

A mother and her son sat in the booth next to us. The boy was about Char's age, and the mother sniffed loudly, "Hmmp. Maybe I should have brought our computer for you to play on. That way I wouldn't even have to talk to you."

This was clearly a jab at my parenting skills, but I said nothing. I did look over my shoulder a few minutes later when her their table fell silent. They were both on their phones and oblivious of each other and the mom's hypocrisy.  

For dessert, we stopped by the Candy Clubhouse at Valley West Mall. Char was pumped that I let her get the Sour Flush Candy Plungers And Powder Dip Toilet. The dark chocolate Kit Kat was for Daphne. I got a smile and another thumbs up.

Yes, Char actually played some Minecraft, too. (More on this later.)

Daphne did laundry on Sunday, and it wasn't too hard to guess what Char was going to wear to school today.

The Adventuretime greeter spotted Char's shirt and said, "Charlotte! I didn't know you played Minecraft!" Char smiled and nodded in agreement. We kept walking down the hall, and I noticed a little more spring in her step.

It's fun when your ideas work out.