Let's be clear about one thing right up front.  The title of this post does not refer to me.

For those of you who don't know me, or may be new to this site, I am neither exuberant or youthful.  I am a late-40-something male, graying at the temples, losing the battle of the bulge, working in a reasonably stressful business, commuting nearly two hours a day, trying to spend some quality time with my kids and remember what my wife looks like.  My blood pressure is high, my energy level is low and my outlook on life varies between grim and glum. 

So what's a guy like me doing writing a blog post on a camping website about The Exuberance of Youth?

You may have caught the part above about trying to spend time with my kids.  I have two boys, age 7+ and 5+, and they are great guys.  It's all worth it to be their dad.  That's the reason I bought The Camping Machine - so we could get outdoors, see some neat things and spend time together.

But I digress.

So last Sunday evening we are out running some last-minute errands.  It's been a heck of a week for me at work, trying to tie up several loose ends so I can enjoy the Christmas break, and I'm a bit frazzled.  At this point we're trying to pull together some last-minute Christmas gifts, the roads are packed and it's snowing like mad.  We just happen to be driving by a large, big-box strip mall, where one of the businesses happens to be a bowling alley.  At that moment my wonderful wife says, "Why don't we take a break and go bowling?"

Now I love my wife like you can't believe.  She is a wonderful woman, a fabulous mom to our two sons, a passionate schoolteacher and the best wife a guy like me could ever hope to have.  But we have never been bowling in our 13+ years together.  Not once.  Our kids have never been bowling.  The kids are hungry, I am tired and I just want to get us all home before full-on blizzard hits. So why the #@&%! does she think now is a good time to go bowling?

But the kids have heard her, and even though they don't even know what bowling is, they want to do it.  In fact, thanks to them, if we DON'T go bowling right now it will be World War III in the back of the Suburban.

Smart man that I am I quickly agree to bowling, and flip a U-turn across 3 lanes of traffic on a snow-covered road, sneaking into the strip mall just ahead of an oncoming semi, brakes locked and horn blaring.  We park the Suburban and walk into the bowling alley.

Back in my high school years I had gone bowling a couple of times.  The lanes were dark and smoky, it was difficult to keep score on those paper sheets and the bowling shoes you had to wear were simply gross.  So imagine my surprise when I walked into what I thought was a bowling alley and entered a full blown entertainment facility.

Sure there were bowling lanes - 40, in fact.  There were also computerized scoring machines, big-screen TVs above every lane, (ours was showing football.  FOOTBALL!  There is a god!), flashing lights, a music system playing songs real people actually like to listen to, and the bowling shoes did not look or smell like they came out of a dumpster.

All in all, it looked like it might actually be fun.

Plus, they sold burgers, fries, pizza and Diet Coke.  What's not to like?

So you're thinking, "Welcome to the 21st Century, Camping Machine Guy.  Bowling has grown up!  It really is Family Entertainment.  DUH!"  And yes, I'd have to agree, I have to get out more.  But let's be clear - bowling a couple of games with my kids is not going to help me reclaim The Exuberance of Youth, which, if you'll recall, is the title of this post.

So what is the point?

Watching my kids bowl was really a lot of fun.  Bowling is one of those sports that a kid doesn't really need to be taught.  All they have to do is watch you roll the ball down the lane once, and they get it.  Pick up ball.  Throw it down the lane (even more fun if you can make the ball bounce!).  Watch it hit the pins.  Yup. That is a recipe for Kid Fun.  Throw or roll a ball and knock things down.  Hey, they do something like that nearly every day at home - here they can do it over and over again, and not get yelled at! 

So I sat back and let the kids have at it.  I didn't even need to keep score - the computer did that for me.  I did take a few turns, rolling a lucky strike and a few unlucky gutter balls, and it was more fun that I had thought.  But still, me rolling a few frames of bowling did not bring back even an ounce of The Exuberance of Youth.  Nope.  Not one drop.

What did, however, was watching Tommy bowl.

He's five-and-change years old.  Never been bowling.  Not nearly as much hand-eye coordination as his older brother Chris, who does have some real athletic talent for a seven-year old.  Take a look at the Soccer video clip on the Multimedia Page of this site.  That's Chris scoring the soccer goal.  For most everything athletic that both boys do, Chris is better skilled, faster, stronger and quicker than Tommy.

But Tommy is more of a thinker.  He watched each of us carefully as we lined up our shots, rolled the ball and knocked down pins.  He absorbed it, saw how it was done, and stepped up when it was his turn, determined to participate and hold his own with his older brother.

From the rack of bowling balls he selected one that seemed almost as heavy as he is, lined up his shot (use that metal ramp the small kids can use to get the ball down the lane?  NO WAY!  Not Him!) and rolled the ball with all his might.

You want to see how it turned out?  Go to the Multimedia page of this website, look for the video clips, and watch the one called The Exuberance of Youth.

Then you'll get it.

That's when I did.

That's what they used to say, back in the day, to tease the late local news on TV stations across both the East and West coasts.  These days it's all on tape, but that doesn't have the same ring to it.  'Tape at Eleven' doesn't have that same sense of urgency, even though it is true.

Many years ago I was a TV news cameraman, or 'Photog' as we were called.  Starting as a one-man photog staff at KFBB-TV in Great Falls, Montana, I soon joined the staff of KTVX TV News in Salt Lake City, Utah.  Ten years later I left the business, got an MBA, and traded my camera for a white collar and a job in Advertising.

A month or so ago I was rooting around in our attic, looking for who knows what, when I stumbled across several of my 'comp reels' from my days as a TV News Photog.  Some were on Beta tapes, some were on the ancient 3/4" U-Matic tapes.  Having sat in the attic so long, exposed to both extreme heat and cold, I wasn't sure if the tapes would still play.  I took one of the Beta tapes in to our production suite at the Ad Agency and popped it into one of the Beta decks.  Lo and behold, the tape was good and some of my stories magically appeared.

I convinced our Director of Multimedia Operations to transfer the stories on that tape to a DVD, which he did.  Once I can load them onto my Mac, I'll run them through Imovie and start to add them to the home page of this site, where I've posted a couple of silly clips I shot with my Canon Rebel.  You can take the Photog out of the business, but you can't the urge to shoot images out of the Photog.

The clips on my comp reel are dated, to be sure, but watching them reminded me of the good times I had in the business.  In another post I will tell you why I think being a TV News Cameraman, or 'Photog,' is a great job but a lousy career.  Still, the job provides for some great stories (check my blog archive for a post called 'Lunch Meat'), and now that I have tape to go with some of my stories I will share some anecdotes from my past.  Something different to pass the time as we wait through the long Rocky Mountain winter until it is time to take the family camping once again.

So check back in this space for those stories, and keep an eye on the home page of this site for news of posting 'News Stories' from a former Photog.

As they used to say, 'Stay Tuned!  Film at Eleven!'

MBW and I have owned our house for eight years.  In fact, we just recently passed the official seven year mark from the date we officially closed on our house in 1999.

In the front yard of our home we have a Colorado blue spruce evergreen tree.  It’s a wonderful tree, and this time of year it is a picture-perfect Christmas tree.  We strung lights on it the first year we celebrated Christmas in our new home, and it looked great.  It wasn’t that hard to get the lights on it because it was only about eight feet tall.  With a small ladder I was able to get lights around the tree all the way to the top.

But that tree has grown substantially over the past seven years, and each year it’s gotten more difficult to put Christmas lights on the tree and make it look decent.

This year I talked about not putting Christmas lights on that tree.  It’s gotten too big, I told MBW.  Let’s do something else this year.

Chris and Tommy would have none of it.

“Dad, you have to put the lights on the tree!” said Chris.

“Please, dad, please do the tree lights!” said Tommy.

“It’s your call,” said MBW, smiling.

Remember, this is not the indoor tree we’re talking about.  This is the outdoor tree in our front yard, the Colorado blue spruce that is now about fifteen feet tall.  It has gotten so big that this past summer I had to trim back the sides of the tree to keep it from extending into the driveway and over the sidewalk.

But apparently Chris and Tommy have grown attached to having lights on that tree at Christmas.  It’s a part of their Christmas that, for whatever reason, is important to them.  So what kind of dad would I be if I let them down at this very special time of year?

So the Saturday after Thanksgiving I assemble my gear.  I get out the big ladder, the box of Christmas lights, the extension cords and the electric timer.  Get my leather work gloves on and go to work.

I’ve never had a problem putting up Christmas lights.  Every year I read stories of people who have all sorts of problems getting their light up.  I laugh in haughty delight at all you lesser beings who struggle with so simple a task.  Please.  It’s simple.  Get your act together and stop whining.  How hard can it be?

So there. 

Master of this task that I am, I open the box of lights and spread the tangled mess onto the front lawn.  It takes about 20 minutes to untangle the six strings of multicolored lights.  Every year I swear I’m going to a better job putting the Christmas lights away so I won’t have this problem the following year, and every year I don’t do it.  When I take them down this time…anyway, with the lights untangled, plugged in and laid out carefully across the lawn, I replace all the burned out and broken bulbs.   On the lawn, with all six strings (25 lights per string) plugged in end-to-end, all the bulbs are lit up.  It all works.  I think I’m ready to go.

Chris and Tommy are watching this intently.  They’re very excited.  This process, decorating for Christmas, makes it real to them.  Santa will be coming!  Lots of toys!

“Get going, dad!” says Chris.
 

I unplug the lights from the extension cord and begin to wind them around the tree.  The bottom six feet of the tree is easy.  I walk around and around the tree laying the string of lights in place.  It’s going smoothly.  The string of lights plays out quickly – will I have enough to reach the top of the tree?

The next few feet are harder.  I have to reach over my head and place the lights without really being able to see what I’m doing.  The string of lights gets all tangled up, so I have to stop, unplug what’s left from what I’ve already strung, and sort it out.  A bulb breaks in the process, and I have to replace it.

Tommy asks, “What’s taking so long, Daddy?”

Grrr.

Finally the remaining lights are untangled, the broken bulb replaced.  I go back to the tree, plug the rest of the lights into those already on the tree, and continue.  I’m reaching as high as I can, standing on my tip-toes, running the string around the tree.  Soon I can’t reach any higher, so I set the lights down and get the ladder.

Now it gets tedious.  I place the ladder, climb up, lean into the tree and place a few lights, climb down the ladder, move the ladder a few feet, and climb up again.  Over and over, round and round, up and down.  The higher I get, the more unstable the ladder, which is leaning into the tree, becomes. 

Before I get even close to the top, I run out of lights.

I climb down the ladder and Tommy asks, “Are you done, daddy?”

“No, Tommy,” I say, “I’ve run out of lights.  We need to buy more.”

Last year six strands of lights were enough.  Not this year.

So off to the store I go, buy two sets of lights and more replacement bulbs, and return home.  Chris, Tommy and MBW are having lunch, so I join them. 

After lunch I go back outside.  Chris and Tommy follow and take their seats on the front steps.  They watch as I get the ladder and a hockey stick.  I take one of the two new strings of lights, find the end of the last string already on the tree, and reach way, way up over my head to try to plug the new string into the line.  The ladder is feeling pretty shaky…but I get the connection made. 

I climb down, move the ladder a few feet, grab the hockey stick and climb back up.  Now I’m using the hockey stick to lift the string of lights way up to the top of the tree.  Round and round, up and down, over and over.  Reaching way up high with this ridiculous hockey stick, trying to gently place these lights on the small boughs near the top of this tree.  The lights keep slipping off the end of the hockey stick.  It takes multiple attempts on the shaky ladder, but finally I get the last few bulbs strung.  It reaches almost to the top.

Wearily I climb down the ladder, put away the hockey stick.  Chris says, “So, dad, are you done?  Can we turn them on?”

“Sure,” I say, “let’s plug them in and see how they look.”

It’s still mid-afternoon but we have to see the fruits of our labor.  I plug the extension cord into the wall, bring it out to the base of the tree, plug in the seven strings of beautiful colored lights I have strung up the tree, and…

Nothing.

The lights are not on.  Not a single one.

You’ve got to be kidding.

I fiddle with it for awhile, checking each connection to make sure it’s tight, check to make sure to extension cord is plugged securely into the outlet, check to make sure the breaker inside the house hasn’t tripped.  Everything checks out okay, but the lights won’t come on.

I begin the process of pulling all of the lights back down off the tree.  Once they are down, a tangled mess, I separate each stand of lights and plug them individually into the extension cord.  Five of the seven are working, two are not.  I assume the fuses for the individual strands have blown, so I replace those.  That must have been the issue as they are both now working.

I ponder the problem for a moment, then head back to the store to buy two additional extension cords and two multi-outlet breaker-protected power strips.  I swear the clerk is laughing at me.  As if she’s never had this problem!  May Santa leave her a lump of coal this year.

I get back home.  The sun is starting to go down.  What a lovely day we’ve had.  Wearily I run the extra power cords from different outlets around the house out to the tree, hook up the multi-outlet breaker-protected power strips and test everything one more time.  It works.  Imagine that!  Now all I have to do is run the lights around and up the tree once again, making sure to connect no more than two strands together and make sure no more than four strands are running off any one outlet. 

It’s almost completely dark by the time I’m finished.  The lights are up yet again.  The cords are plugged into their respective multi-outlet breaker-protected power strips.  With bated breath and fingers crossed I plug the multi-outlet breaker-protected power strips into the individual extension cords and…

The tree lights up.

Thank God.

Chris gives me a mock round of applause.  MBW and Tommy come out to take a look, nod their approval.  At last the task is complete.

As I’m putting away the ladder and hockey stick, MBW says, “Now it’s time to do the tree INSIDE the house.”

Chris and Tommy say, “Yeah, Dad!  Let’s do the inside tree!  Can we help you?”

Smiling back at the boys, I say, “You bet!  Let’s get started!”

But I’m crying on the inside.