Healthy Balls: My Short Story Of the Week

Healthy Balls

 

“Peas is a silly name,” said eight-year-old Elise. “It sounds kind of yucky, you know, like …”

“Pee-pee!” exclaimed Elise’s four-year-old sister, Loretta.

“Come on, now, enough of that,” Steve said as he sat down at the table.

“Sorry,” Loretta mumbled.

“No you’re not,” Elise chided.

“I’m not!” Loretta bellowed before laughing maniacally.

“All right,” Caroline interrupted, “your father made your favorite. Let’s eat while it’s hot.”

Loretta roared, “Bow tie pasta! Yum!”

“Glad somebody’s excited for it,” Steve chuckled.

Steve did indeed make the girls’ favorite dinner. The night previous, he’d made meatloaf, never a popular choice among his children, but a favorite of his wife’s. He thought tonight he’d make something they’d all enjoy. Of course, Elise and Loretta eat the mini farfalle with only Alfredo sauce, whereas he and his wife add peas, red pepper, green pepper, onion, and Parmesan. Steve takes it even a step further with small Italian sausage slices. Not to worry, the girls must still eat their peas, albeit in a separate dish with too much butter.

Obviously, the peas were a topic of great concern to Elise.

“Don’t you think ‘peas’ is kind of a weird name?” Elise asked anyone willing to answer.

“I guess,” Caroline replied.

Elise grinned, then said, “Yeah, like when I drop a pea on the floor, I have to say, ‘Oops, I pead on the floor.’”

Loretta erupted.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard it phrased quite like that,” Steve added.

“No, Steve, she’s right,” Caroline said. “It does sound a little funny to warn people, ‘Oh, no! Don’t step in my pea!’”

Steve groaned, “Seriously? You’re doing it, too?”

The girls burst out laughing, so hard, in fact, that Loretta very nearly fell out of her seat. Steve caught her by the shoulder and hefted her back up into place.

“What would be a better alternative?” Carolina asked Elise.

“Huh?”

Caroline clarified, “What would be a better name for peas?”

Elise took a bite of her garlic bread and thought for several moments. After great contemplation, she finally revealed, “I’ve got it! Green balls!”

Caroline took a drink of soda the moment Elise said this, and within an instant she had to cover her mouth to keep from spitting it out.

Loretta noticed her mother, started pointing, and shouted, “Look at Mommy! Look at Mommy!”

“Green balls, huh?” Steve repeated. “I’ve got to be honest, kiddo … that doesn’t sound appetizing.”

Finally under control, Caroline giggled, “I mean, it’s already hard enough to get most kids to eat their peas, you know? I’m not sure calling them ‘green balls’ will get children excited for a big spoonful.”

“Not me, that’s for sure,” Steve said.

“But you don’t eat peas, Daddy,” Loretta enlightened.

“True enough, sweetheart,” he answered.

Elise, a thoughtful young girl, took the matter to heart. “So we need a name that will make kids want to eat peas but not sound like, you know …”

“Pee-pee!” Loretta hollered. “Pee-pee! Pee-pee!”

“We got it, Loretta,” Caroline said with a smile.

“And ‘green balls’ isn’t any good?” she tested again.

Steve finished chewing before saying, “I won’t lie – it’s not great.”

“Okay. Well then … how about … healthy balls!”

Caroline’s eyes closed so tightly that they began to water as she hunched over and tried her hardest not to laugh. Instead, a sequence of rasps escaped accompanied by a strange series of heaving and jostling.

“I think that’s perfect, Elise,” Steve said. “The doctors will love it. I mean, ‘healthy balls.’ It sounds very nutritious.”

“You think so?” Elise asked. “It’s good?”

Caroline, still unable to talk as she fought to contain her laughter, offered her husband a silent warning with a quick shake of her head.

“It’s very good,” Steve agreed. “I think everyone should have healthy balls.”

“It doesn’t sound gross?” Elise questioned.

“Only if there’s a hair on them,” her father added.

“Steve!” Caroline chastised.

“No, Daddy’s right,” Elise confirmed. “If I find a hair on my food, I can’t eat anymore. It totally grosses me out.”

“Okay,” Caroline began after finally having composed herself, “let’s change topics.”

“Why?” Loretta asked.

“Yeah, why?” Steve repeated with an ornery grin.

“I think kids would love healthy balls,” Elise informed.

“I think we all would,” Steve added. “People will grab big handfuls.”

Caroline again lost control. She pressed her eyes shut, pursed her lips, and tried with all her might to keep it together.

“Maybe Daddy will like to eat them now!” Loretta said.

“Hmm. I don’t know, Lo,” Steve said. “I mean, it is just a name change. I’m guessing they would still taste the same. I’d have to ask someone to try them out for me. Maybe your mom would do me a favor and taste my healthy balls?”

At this Caroline screeched, “Excuse me!” before racing to the bathroom. They heard her slam the door, turn on the fan, run the water, and then emit a sound so jarring that the girls’ eyes grew quite concerned.

“Is Mommy crying?” Loretta asked.

It’d been a while since Steve heard such a ruckus from his wife. He informed the girls, “Ladies, what you’re hearing is your mother’s genuine laughter. It is not for the faint of heart.”

Elise looked at Steve very seriously and said, “I don’t think you guys are talking about peas.”

Loretta added, “I think they’re talking about real balls!”

Steve then had to excuse himself from the table as well.

Some time passed before the parents rejoined their children, at which point they agreed they should probably stick with the name “peas” and have no more talk of healthy balls.

Loretta, however, noticed Steve and Caroline’s conspiratorial glance to one another. She offered one of her own to Elise, which prompted a mischievous smirk in return.

This was not over.


Copyright © 2017 by Scott William Foley

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or articles.

George Winthrop Jr. Park: My Short Story Of the Week

WinthropCoverI

“Look, there he is,” Krystal groaned.

Ben said, “Every Tuesday! What’s the creep doing at a children’s park?”

Andrea said, “It’d be different if he brought a grandchild or something, but he just sits there watching the kids play in their bathing suits. It’s weird!”

“We’ve done nothing about it this whole summer,” Lisa said. “We should confront him. We need to let him know we’re on to him. We can’t tolerate it.”

“Totally,” Ben replied. “Doesn’t he realize we see him gawking at our kids? He’s lucky we haven’t turned him over to the cops!”

“So go tell him, Ben,” Krystal said. “We shouldn’t put this off any longer, and it’ll sound more impressive coming from you.”

“Why?” Ben asked. “Because I’m a man?”

“No,” Krystal answered. “It’s because you’re super tall and probably three hundred pounds.”

“Two-fifty,” Ben huffed while getting to his feet. “Keep an eye on my Lacy, would you?”

Lisa smiled and said, “You bet, Ben. Good luck. We’ll be here if things get out of hand.”

Ben followed the water area’s perimeter. Toddlers ran from spout to bucket to spray gun, laughing all the while. Ben had joined Lisa, Krystal, and Andrea’s Tuesday play group after meeting them at church. Throughout the summer, they’d convened weekly at George Winthrop Jr. Park, and without fail, they’d seen the old man haunting a bench, speaking to no one, and ogling the children.

As Ben approached, he saw that the old man wore a battered fireman’s cap and black-rimmed glasses, as well as a white shirt and blue jeans. He also had a thermos. Ben could only imagine its contents.

The man in question didn’t notice Ben’s advancement.

“Hey,” Ben called out.

The man’s head snapped away from the children and he studied Ben a moment, careful to avoid eye-contact. With a face devoid of friendliness, he mumbled, “Howdy.”

No stranger to confrontation, Ben got right to the point by saying, “My friends and I notice that you come here a lot.”

“Yep,” the old man replied.

“Every Tuesday, in fact,” Ben said.

“Just like you and yours,” the man pointed out.

Ben chuckled a little before replying, “Yeah, but we bring our kids with us.”

The old man went back to watching the children as he spat, “That right?”

Folding his arms across his wide chest, Ben answered, “Yeah, man. That’s right.”

Without looking at Ben, the man said, “I used to bring my kid to this park—every Tuesday. This was back before it had all the fancy water guns and such, back when it was still called Evergreen Park. It was a long time ago, probably before you were born.”

“I don’t really care,” Ben replied.  “I do care about my kid’s safety, though, and I want to know what you’re doi—”

“People are funny nowadays,” the man interrupted.  “They don’t think. They don’t think about the past or the future; they only think about the present. They get a notion, and they act on it, lickety-split.”

“Look,” Ben said, “I don’t have time to listen to you rant, okay? I just wanted to give you fair warning: we don’t like you watching our k—”

“You probably don’t even know who George Winthrop Jr. is, do you?”

Furrowing his brow, Ben got caught off guard. He stammered, “W-What? No. Who cares about George Winthrop Jr.? He doesn’t matter. It’s just a park.”

The old man laughed before grumbling, “He doesn’t matter, huh? He sure mattered to Travis and Becky Swan. They had a little girl, about three years old, and she got trapped in her bedroom during a house fire. George Winthrop Jr. was a fireman, and he saved that little girl’s life. He died doing it, but I’ll be damned if he didn’t get it done. The Swan girl got a little burned on her legs, but she went on to grow up and have a few kids of her own. Last I heard, she’s teaching elementary school up north.”

“Cool,” Ben muttered, “so they changed the name of the park in honor of the fireman, I get it. What’s your point?”

“Ha!” the old man cackled. “They changed it all right, but only after I hounded them for three solid years. A man gives his life saving a baby, and the city makes you jump through a thousand hoops just to give that man a little recognition. Then, a few more years go by, and before you know it, nobody even remembers who the park is named after.”

Ben’s cheeks grew hot as he began to understand.

The man continued, “Well, I’ll always remember who this park is named after, I can tell you that much. My boy loved this park, and I know he’d love seeing all these kids enjoying it, too. Like I said, I brought him here every Tuesday, my only day off, and I don’t aim to quit coming any time soon. Sometimes I can feel him sitting right on this bench next to me, and we watch the kids together, and we understand that he did right that night—saving that Swan girl. I miss him terrible, but he did the right thing, and I’m proud as hell of him.”

Swallowing hard, Ben extended his hand and said, “I’m Ben Silvestri. Would you care to join my friends and me? You could meet our kids and maybe tell us a little bit more about your son.”

The old man looked Ben in the eyes for the first time, and then, with his face brightening, said, “I’d like that.”

He then shook Ben’s hand while saying, “I’m George Winthrop.”


Copyright © 2009/2019 by Scott William Foley

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. . This story first appeared in the September 2009 issue of News and Views For the Young at Heart.

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or articles.

 

A Christmas Confrontation: My Short Story Of the Week

AChristmasConfrontationCover

James Henderson shook the snow from his overcoat and dress shoes as he entered the mammoth church. In his opinion—with the food court, café, gift shop, and free Wi-Fi—it had more in common with a shopping mall. His left hand clung to a hot pink flier so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

James pounded through the lobby, but the grey carpet devoured his stomps, rendering them ineffectual. Teenagers loitered around everywhere. Some were working on homework, but most were playing on their phones or gossiping. Nearly all of them clutched a coffee of some sort. They obviously came straight over once school dismissed. This fact only served to enrage James all the more.

He stopped one of them, a boy whose hair hid his eyes, and demanded to know the location of the youth minister’s office. After a muffled response, James headed in the appropriate direction. He hadn’t bothered to wipe his feet, and so he left cold, wet tracks.

The particular door he sought stood wide open. James burst into the office without knocking or announcing himself in any way. He discovered an older man sitting at a desk, listening to a radio show while tapping away on his laptop. The man wore a white Chicago Bears hat, a red pullover, and a silver wedding ring. The office was adorned with posters promoting musical groups unfamiliar to James—names like Switchfoot, Third Day, and David Crowder Band.

Before the older man could even look up, James huffed, “My name’s James Henderson, and I expect a word with Marty Yaple.”

The other man didn’t seem startled by the rash intrusion whatsoever, as though unexpected outbursts were an everyday occurrence. He smiled and said, “You’re looking at him.”

“No,” James said. “I want to see Marty Yaple, the youth minister.”

“Yeah, that’s still me. I’m Marty.”

James squinted at the man, prompting Marty to say, “Ministering to youth doesn’t mean the minister has to be young in body, though being young in spirit helps. I really am Marty Yaple. Now, what can I do for you?”

As James rushed across the room and slammed the pink flier down upon Marty’s desk, the youth minster pushed a button on his laptop. This brought the radio show to an end.

“You’re responsible for this,” James seethed.

Marty looked at the flier, then said, “I take it you don’t like the event.”

“No, Mr. Yaple—”

“Call me Marty—”

“Mr. Yaple, I do not like the event one bit. Get Jiggy With Jesus’ Birthday. It’s sacrilegious.”

Having had many experiences over the years with people of all temperaments, Marty remembered to keep his cool. “We’re celebrating the birth of Christ on Christmas Eve. Jiggy denotes joy, dancing, and celebration. Where’s the blasphemy in that?”

Scooping the flier back up, James read, “Live music, dancing, pizza, video games.” With his nostrils flaring and a vein above his left brow visibly throbbing, he interrogated, “Where’s Communion? Candles? Hymns? What about a sermon? You don’t mention anything that remotely gives the impression of worship.”

Marty felt his cheeks flush ever so slightly as he said, “Well, to be fair, Mr. Henderson, we’re celebrating Jesus’ birth. We will pray as a group, of course, and I always encourage independent prayer as well, but we want it to be a party. We’ll address those things you mentioned the next day during regular service, but our youth Christmas Eve event is all about celebrating Jesus’ arrival into the world and our hearts by throwing a party.”

Skepticism shrouded James’ face. Marty witnessed the look a thousand times during his years of service. Waving the flier back and forth as though aflame, James growled, “My thirteen-year-old daughter brought this home yesterday. One of her friends, a member of your youth group, gave it to her. She wants to come.”

“Wonderful!” Marty exclaimed.

“Wrong, Mr. Yaple. My wife and I have taken her to our church’s Christmas Eve service since she was a little girl. Now that tradition will come to an end over pizza and live music? Our family will spend its first Christmas Eve apart over some gimmick? How can you justify the turmoil you’re bringing into my family by catering to the whims of children?”

Though a Godly man, Marty felt anger swell up inside his chest. He didn’t deny it; instead, he overcame it. He said, “My goal as youth minister is to bring children to Christ so that they may then bring their future children to Christ. You may not like my methodology, but I firmly believe Christmas is about Jesus; we want to celebrate Him.”

Marty noticed that James’ expression softened as he continued with, “Look, Mr. Henderson, we’re both Christians. We may not have the same ideologies, but we both believe in Christ and want your daughter to celebrate Him. Now, we’d love to have her join us, but as long as she’s acknowledging His birth, I’m a happy man wherever she is.”

And then Marty spotted it.

Up until that point, he believed he saw anger in James’ eyes. But he was mistaken. It was not anger James suffered, but pain. Marty, being the father of three grown women, finally realized what was at the heart of this confrontation.

Marty asked, “You said your daughter is thirteen?”

James nodded with averted eyes placed upon a nearby cross.

“I remember those days. That’s around the time they realize we’re not infallible; that maybe our way isn’t always the best. And then something like this comes along, and you ask yourself, ‘Man, if she’s willing to break a Christmas tradition of all things, what’s next?’ And that thought scares the hell out of you, just like it did me.”

When James looked at Marty once more, the old youth minister saw tears.

“She’s going to grow up, James, and she’s going to live a life without you there by her side. Trust me, there’s not a thing you can do to stop it, nor should you. But just remember Proverbs: ‘Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.’”

“That’s from the King James version,” James said.

“It is,” Marty replied.

“I assumed you to be an NIV man.”

Marty grinned and said, “Well, I’m kind of traditional in that regard.”

James laughed a little. It was enough to convince Marty that a resolution arrived.

“Go home and talk to your daughter, James,” Marty said. “Believe me, if you sit down and tell her your concerns, all of them, even the ones that make you look weak, emotional, and fearful, she’ll listen. And then you have to do the same for her. But know that whatever decision you both make, it’ll be the right one. Because wherever she is that night, she’ll recognize the true meaning of Christmas.”

James took a deep breath, extended his hand, and then, after a manly shake, apologized for his behavior. He went home to follow Marty’s advice.

While he resumed his Internet radio show, Marty chuckled to himself. He suddenly realized that at his age, he was a youth minister to just about everyone.


Copyright © 2009/2019 by Scott William Foley

This work originally published in the December 2009 edition of News and Views for the Young at Heart

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or articles.

“Follow Me: A Short Story” Now Available On the Nook

Yesterday I announced that “Follow Me: A Short Story” could be read on the Kindle, and today I’m happy to report that it can be read on the Nook as well!

If you have a Nook, I hope you’ll download “Follow Me: A Short Story.” It’s about TJ, a little boy whose big brother wakes him up with a simple order: “Follow me.” By the night’s conclusion, he’ll wish he had stayed in bed.

Originally published in the November, 2007, issue of 60 Plus News & Views, this humorous little story will take you right back to your childhood, especially if you had a big brother.

Click on the image or click HERE to download to your Nook for $00.99.

Thank you so much for giving my story a read. Enjoy!

FOLLOW ME

Are you in need of a new epic series? Try Dr. Nekros, a trilogy that I like to describe as Moonlighting meets The X-FilesKindle: https://amzn.to/2X3S7vO or NOOK: http://bit.ly/2JTFXm1

Do You Read On Your Kindle? Check Out “Follow Me: A Short Story”

Do you enjoy reading on your Kindle? If so, I hope you’ll check out my short story called “Follow Me.”

Here’s the pitch: TJ’s big brother wakes him up with a simple order: “Follow me.” By the night’s conclusion, he’ll wish he had stayed in bed.

Originally published in the November, 2007, issue of 60 Plus News & Views, this humorous little story will take you right back to your childhood, especially if you had a big brother.

Click on the image or click HERE to download to your Kindle for $00.99. Thank you!

FOLLOW ME.jpg

Are you in need of a new epic series? Try Dr. Nekros, a trilogy that I like to describe as Moonlighting meets The X-FilesKindle: https://amzn.to/2X3S7vO or NOOK: http://bit.ly/2JTFXm1

Reza’s Edge Of Illusion: Branson, Baby! – Our 2019 Spring Break (Part 14)

When we researched our 2019 Spring Break trip to Branson, everything said Reza was a must.  I’ve never heard of the guy, so after exploring his website and reading a few reviews, I presented him as a possibility to the family.  My wife and kids really like magicians and illusionists, so we figured we’d give him a shot.

We paid him a visit on a weekday in the afternoon.  We could instantly tell that this would be a much different experience than Hamner’s Unbelievable Variety.  The theater seemed newer and there were far more people in the audience.

Reza’s warm-up act came out to get us fired up.  Do you like all the flame puns?  I’m using them because this guy swallowed fire.  He also told us to make a lot of noise–the more noise we made, the longer the show would go.  He said Reza loves a rocking audience.  Well, that got us going.

In fact, the beginning of this experience felt very much like a rock concert, which I think was the objective.

Reza soon appeared and he dazzled us from the start.  His illusions are unique, kinetic, and even felt a little bit dangerous.  He also took several moments to interact with the crowd by calling a few people up or taking questions.

Image seems very important to Reza.  Though he had a dry sense of humor, he was careful to maintain a “cool” persona.  He never got too excited, too loud, or too rushed.  In fact, after every illusion, he kept a blank, almost withdrawn expression upon his face.  After awhile, it got to be kind of funny to me.

Though his performance amazed us and we had a magnificent time watching him, I have to admit I was disappointed when the show ended right on time.  I felt like the audience showed him a lot of love, but apparently not enough to extend the act.

I also appreciated that he stood in the lobby afterward and signed autographs for every single person who wanted to wait in line.  He also allowed pictures on people’s personal cell phones.  (Yes, he also had a professional photographer if you wanted higher quality.)  My oldest, who was 10 at the time, was mesmerized by this man.  Unfortunately, she said he didn’t even make eye-contact with her, nor did he speak to her beyond a quick “hello.”  I realize Reza meets hundreds of people each week, but it would have meant a lot to her if she had gotten a warmer reception.  She still cherishes that autograph, though.

Reza’s Edge of Illusion is a really cool show that’s appropriate for all ages.  If you’re in Branson, I would consider him a must-see.  Enjoy!

Reza

Are you in need of a new epic series? Try Dr. Nekros, a trilogy that I like to describe as Moonlighting meets The X-FilesKindle: https://amzn.to/2X3S7vO or NOOK: http://bit.ly/2JTFXm1

Aladdin (2019) – A Movie Review

I’m 42 years old, so I was in high school when the original Aladdin debuted.  I enjoyed it, especially the Robin Williams performance, but I didn’t consider it a masterpiece nor do I to this day.  Fun?  Absolutely?  Great music?  You bet.  A holy artifact that should remain untouched for the rest of time?  No.  Absolutely not.

When I heard they were remaking a “live-action” version of the film, I thought, “Yeah, okay.  That’s pretty consistent with what Disney is doing now.”  When I discovered that they cast Will Smith as the genie … well, I thought that was an odd choice not just for the movie, but for Will Smith himself.

So let’s get the most important thing out of the way right now: my ten-year-old and seven-year-old daughters loved this version.  They’ve seen the original, but they both said that they like this one more.  Will they feel as strongly about it in ten years?  Who knows.  But, this is a kids’ movie made for kids, and both of my kids adored it.  Bam.  Mission successful.

From a more critical view, or maybe I should say from a cynical adult perspective, Aladdin (2019) isn’t perfect.  First of all, it’s about thirty minutes too long.  Two hours and ten minutes is just a bit too much for this genre.  I definitely found myself looking at my watch.  Also, the CGI in the movie is just … weird.  There are times when it doesn’t look good at all, particularly in regards to the genie.  CGI blue Will Smith … never quite looked right.  I know this sound ludicrous, but he always appeared kind of fake … realistically fake.  You know?  They included rippling muscles and pores in the skin, yet he never seemed to be anchored to his surroundings.

However, there is quite a bit to like about this movie.  First of all, no one can deny Will Smith’s movie stardom.  He’s always fun to watch.  Will Smith gets to be regular human Will Smith for quite a bit of the movie, and that’s when he really shined.  Also, Mena Massoud, who plays Aladdin, has undeniable charisma.  His eyes and smile light up the screen every time he appears, and he also has a really interesting speaking voice.  Finally, though she doesn’t have the magnetism of her costar, Naomi Scott (Jasmine) has a fantastic voice.  When she sings–watch out!  This actress has one of those voices that just grabs you.  I actually wish they’d given her several more musical numbers.

I feel totally comfortable recommending this as a family movie.  If you all want to go out together and enjoy a fun time, Aladdin (2019) is a fine choice.  The kids will enjoy it, the parents will find things to like about it, and then everyone will forget about it by the next day, and that’s okay.

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Are you in need of a new epic series? Try Dr. Nekros, a trilogy that I like to describe as Moonlighting meets The X-FilesKindle: https://amzn.to/2X3S7vO or NOOK: http://bit.ly/2JTFXm1