BUGGED

     Ah, the joys of summer.  Vacation, cookouts, leisurely swims in a nearby river and the untimely ingestion of insects.  All ingestion of insects is of course untimely, but it is of some comfort to at least know that the possibility of swallowing the six legged pests exists.  Unfortunately for me, I haven't had the luxury of said swallowing with any shred of foreboding that it was going to happen.
My mouth has apparently become quite an attractive landing strip for a wide variety of arrogant bugs this summer.
    One of our favorite things to do in the warm months is to hop onto the four-wheeler and head across the hay field behind our house and into the woods in search of red raspberries.  They are a delicacy for sure.  Last week, Sidney, our daughter and I set out with containers in hand to pick said berries.  "You know what I like most about the red raspberries?  They're not covered in insects like black berries.  It's like their red color repels bugs," I said, while dropping another handful into my container.
     "Yeah, I think you're right," Sidney answered with a mouthful of the tart tasting morsels.
     Up until that point, I'd never eaten a Japanese Beetle.  Suddenly, and without warning a very noisy and bothersome shiny green beetle buzzed squarely into my mouth.  It didn't do the decent thing and land toward my lips or on the front of my tongue.  The nasty thing touched down a mere millimeter from my tonsils and taxied around for a bit before coming to rest next to my left rear molar. Immediately, a violent reflex arc forced me to hack and cough and shake violently.  Sidney, who was standing next to me shrieked with laughter.  "Oh my gosh!  A beetle just flew into your mouth!"
    "Acck, cough haaaaack, ugh!" were a few of the sounds emanating from deep within my body.
     I don't remember seeing the rascally insect being ejected from my mouth, so apparently it resided briefly in my digestive tract, or worse, it's crawling around in my lungs looking for a place to raise a family of mini beetles.
     There's no doubt that I'm getting my daily allowance of protein.  I watch the many survival shows on television and laugh at the characters on those shows and how they pretend to be "real" men by surviving on a variety of bugs for days on end.  "I ate more bugs than that mowing the yard," I said to my wife who was ignoring me and the show.  "Big whoop, he just ate a termite.  Lets see him inhale a Japanese Beetle!  Then he can preach to me," I continued.
     Last night, after a long day at work, I ate, showered, and carried a very tall and cold glass of ice water to the deck to join my family, who were lounging carelessly in the waning daylight.
    "How was your day?" my wife asked, without looking up from the book she was reading.
    "Well, it was very long and stressful.  To begin with..." and then it happened.  Apparently, once again, my pie hole was just too appealing to resist and another wayward and extremely imposing critter of the night sky glided gently into my mouth.
     "Acckk, haaaack, scrrrrrch," came the chorus of sounds echoing from my throat.
     "What in the world?  Are you ok?" Kristi asked.  She tilted her head to the left and then to the right, sure that my heart had finally given up.
     "Bug flew into my mouth!" I gargled, barely audible.  "Can't get it out!"
     The kids had begun to laugh hysterically, while I attempted to drink a sip of water.
     Ryan rose from his seat and headed my way.  "Open up, let me look."
     I opened my mouth and to my astonishment, the boy began to go into some sort of fit that I'd never seen.  He was unable to speak momentarily, and trembled all over.  Finally, he spoke.  "Lightning bug."
     "Lightning bug?!!!" Kristi asked, with a huge smile and subtle laughter bubbling from deep within.
     "Yeah, it's a lightning bug.  It's on his uvula," the kid exclaimed through yet another fit of laughter.  "And it's blinking!"
     This was truly a first.  I had never in my forty-five years had a live, blinking lightning bug fly into my mouth, let alone land on my uvula and start marshaling other insects in with it's glowing yellow beacon.
     Sidney raced over to my side, excitedly preparing to take a picture to post on instagram.  "Dad, open wide.  I have to have a picture of this!"
     The whole episode lasted approximately twenty seconds, but seemed much longer.  I mean, how many people can say that they've had a lightning bug land on that little dangly thing in the back of their throat?
     As with the beetle, I'm not sure if the little bug was coughed out, swallowed, or inhaled.  But one thing is for sure.  It's not doing laps on my uvula anymore.
     I'm considering wearing a dental mask each time I exit the house.  But then again, maybe I won't.  Just think about how much protein I'd be giving up by not swallowing all those bugs.

LIFE, LIBERTY AND THE PURSUIT OF CHOCOLATE MILK

     I don't have the will to run for office.  I just don't have the will to run for any office whatsoever.  So having stated that fact, I also am not qualified for much of anything above and beyond being commander-in-chief of my household.  Of course I may or may not hold that title, depending  on whether you talk to my wife or not.
    But, once upon a time and many years ago, I did indeed run for office.  I won.  I was in the seventh grade and was approached by my teacher about running for SCA president.  That was an extraordinarily tough decision.  "Neil, I think you'd be a wonderful SCA president.  I'm throwing your hat into the ring if it's OK with you,"  Mr. Lasher said one day on the baseball field.
     "Um, what would I have to do if I won?" I answered, unsure of myself and worried about all the things associated with running a campaign.
     "Well, you would help do things that would improve the school," he said, while simultaneously scurrying off to settle a minor fight between two boys on the other side of the baseball diamond.
    That evening after school, I burst through the front door or our home and announced that I was running for SCA president.  "That's great," my father said, peering over the newspaper.  Many of the memories of have of my dad have him peering over a newspaper.
     "Wow, they must really think you'd be good at it if they thought enough to put you into the race," mom added, with her back to me.  Many of the memories I have of my mother involve her back to me while stirring a bowl of something in the kitchen.  "Who ya running against?" she added, still stirring.
     "I don't know, but I'll win."
     Finally mom turned toward me and said, "you sound pretty sure of yourself, especially since you don't even know who you're up against."
     "Have you seen the other kids in my class lately?  I'll win."  With that, my mom stared briefly off into space and then back at me.  "Good point.  You'll win."
     The next day, Mr. Lasher herded the candidates into the music room and proceeded to introduce us for the various offices and then gave a short summary of how the election would proceed.  "Candidates for president.  You will need to come up with something that you feel strongly about and present your idea to the student body.  We will hold an assembly in the gym and it's at that point that you can give reasons as to why you should be elected.  Each student will be given a ballot with your names on it and they can check the appropriate box beside the person they would like to vote for. Any questions?" he finished.
     I had a question.  "Can the SCA president call off school for a day or two if he or she desires?"  I asked.
     "No."
     No?  I thought.  What kind of president doesn't even have the power to call off school if he or she wants.
     Later that evening, as I lay on my bed, my older brother entered and sat down.  He was in high school and was way more knowledgeable about most things than I was.  "Watcha doing?"  he asked.  He was not overly interested, based on the fact that he was digging in a drawer for who knows what, but I did answer.
     "I'm running for SCA president.  I need to come up with some ideas to present to the students about why I should be elected," I said, staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of me.
     "Well that's easy.  Just lie.  Politicians do it all the time.  They promise a bunch of crap that they know they can't deliver on, but get elected on the pitiful hopes of the voters," he said, still digging through the drawer.  "Look, think about something that the kids would love to have, and you promise to make it happen even if you know you can't do it.  You'll win by a landslide, it's a no-brainer.  Of course you'll take some heat later when you don't deliver, but who cares?  You'll be out of there in another six months," he finished.  He did make a valid point and I really wanted to win, so that was that.  I would just follow his advice and hold the highest office in our tiny school.
     "What should I promise but don't deliver on then?"
     For a moment he looked up at me and thought.  "Well, how about chocolate milk?"
    "Stop being stupid," I said, sure this would turn into another of his antics.
    "Seriously.  What kid doesn't like chocolate milk?  What school doesn't offer chocolate milk?  All kids like chocolate milk and your school doesn't have it.  You'll be a hero.  At least until all of you are still drinking white milk on the last day of school, then they'll hate your guts for building them up only to have their hopes and dreams crushed like a pint milk carton."  With that, he stood and disappeared down the hallway.
     There was absolutely no way I was going with the chocolate milk platform.  I might make my speech a bit ambitious, but I was determined that I would promote things that I could at least have a ghost of a chance of getting for the school.
     The next day, as we gathered onto the stage for our speeches, I could feel my nerves getting the best of me.  I had never been before that many people before, let alone have to speak to them!  There were easily seventy-five kids there.
     One by one, the candidates for Secretary, Treasurer (I hoped that they wouldn't entrust a third grader with actual money), and Vice President talked briefly and then took their seats.  Finally, it was our turn.  The big dogs.  The presidential candidates.  By that time the voters had gotten restless and harried teachers began finger pointing and shushing the kids.
     "Finally, here are the candidates for President," Mr. Lasher proclaimed as if he were Walter Cronkite moderating a debate on television.   I hadn't written a single thing down as most of the other kids had.  I thought that surely I could remember what I wanted to say.  I couldn't.  I was to be the last stumper and my mind was drawing a blank.
     "Our final candidate for SCA president is Neil Fix.  Neil, the podium is yours." Mr. Lasher exclaimed with arm extended at if to point the way.
     I rose slowly from my chair and began to tremble.  I eased my way to the edge of the stage to the rickety podium our custodian, Mr. Miller, had made for the event.  I scanned the room carefully, moving only my eyeballs, leaving my head stationary.  A hush fell over the gymnasium.  I was at a loss for words.
   Finally, I spoke.  "Chocolate Milk!"  I blurted out as teachers and students alike kept their eyes glued to me.  "Chocolate milk!" I exclaimed again.  And then the words flowed like chocolate milk.  "I am sick and tired of being the only school in Augusta County without Chocolate milk!  I've been drinking white milk with my lunch for almost seven years and I've had it.  We deserved a choice in what we want to drink, and if you will elect me president, I promise that by the end of the year, we will be drinking chocolate milk!" With that, the students erupted in cheer.  The teachers looked at me like I was nuts.  The other candidates knew their fate was sealed.  Losers.
     I strode back to my seat with a new found confidence and wide eyes to accompany the ear to ear grin on my face.  Mr. Lasher leaned over and whispered into my ear.  "Chocolate milk?" and walked away shaking his head.
     I did indeed win overwhelmingly.  Elementary kids love their chocolate milk. As far as I can remember, the SCA never had a meeting.  Once in a while, someone would ask when we were getting chocolate milk.  "I'm working on it," I would answer time and time again.   The other candidates stayed mad at me for the next few weeks.  My chocolate milk lie was much more appealing to the voting masses that their promises of things like enhanced bulletin boards and putting the dusting of the chalkboard erasers on a rotating schedule so everyone had the chance at that little chore.
     So, now you know.  At one time, I did indeed hold office, and yes I truly was a fine politician, thanks to my big brother, the campaign consultant and chocolate milk.