JefferyMoulton.com

The Random Thoughts of Jeff

It's 2012. What Will You Live Again?

As New Year is upon us, I can't help but reflect back on Slaughterhouse Five (read my review on GoodReads). The book is, in a word, odd, yet it is also very profound.

It is about a man named Billy who is "unstuck in time." This means that he lives his life out of order, jumping ahead and then jumping back again. A few pivotal moments in his life include: serving in WWII, getting married for money, becoming a successful optometrist, being present as a POW for the bombing of Dresden (one of the worst bombings in terms of civilian casualties of WWII), surviving a plane crash, being kidnapped by aliens and placed in a zoo, meeting an author, and so on.

That one about aliens is the one I have reflected on the most. The aliens that kidnap him are called Tralfamadorians. They are unique in that they see, not in the limited 3 dimensions that humans see, but in 4, the 4th dimension being time. Because they can see in time, nothing ever really ceases to exist. They can see, and therefore live in, any moment in the past, present, or future. To them, no one ever really dies because they still exist in the past. It also means that they already know how the universe will end because they can see the future (spoiler alert: a Tralfamadorian test pilot working on a new time/space engine pushes a button and that's it for the universe).

From the beginning, I thought that the concept was pretty interesting, even though it pushed too far into fatalism for me, personally. But the concept I liked the most was how the Tralfamadorians accept the terrible things in life. Because they see/live in the 4th dimension, they can live in any moment they want. So, to avoid falling into terrible depression, they choose to live in their best and happiest moments. They don't live in war, for example, they live in peace.

As the New Year approached and this idea of living in the good times has percolated, I've begun to think about the times that I want to relive this year.

The biggest "good time" was probably when I saw Captain America. It wasn't because the movie was particularly great (though I thought it was very good). It was because we saw it in 3D. The 3D itself wasn't necessarily remarkable, but it was the fact that I could see the movie in 3D that blew me away. I didn't realize, until that moment, just how bad my left eye had gotten prior to the corneal transplant I had back in March. I COULD SEE 3D! It was amazing and well-worth living again, despite the pain that was required to have that experience.

I'd also like to relive our trip to Arizona back in July. The first part, Marcus' wedding, and the last part, the 24th in St. Johns with my family, were awesome. But the part I will remember most will be the 2 days we spent in Jerome and at the Grand Canyon. It was so much fun and brought back so many other good memories. I loved sharing those old experiences with my children, and the aches I felt after we hiked a bit down the trail and back again, and the long, seemingly interminable drive, were totally worth it!

If I get a 3rd choice, I'd also relive the recent power outage caused by a big windstorm (see The Answers Are Blowing' in the Wind). Don't get me wrong, it was a terrible experience—and very, very, cold. And we still haven't fully recovered. But the time we spent together huddled around our fireplace reading A Christmas Carol and roasting hot dogs and telling stories and singing and all of that, was so worth it.

Now that I think about it, the Tralfamadorians are wrong. It really isn't possible to relive the good without the bad because the bad inevitably leads to the good. Or, at the very least, it leads to those moments that are most worth reliving.

I saw a commercial the other day about a car. It said something like, "The only thing better than getting what you wished for, is getting more than what you wished for." I don't buy that. I think that one of the many things better than getting what you wished for is finally achieving something that you had to work and sacrifice and suffer and strive for—something that comes a great, personal cost way beyond a dollar amount. Like going through a painful surgery to be able to see things that you missed before without knowing it, or suffering a couple of very cold nights to spend quality time with loved ones, or barely tolerating a long, difficult drive to share some of you best childhood memories with your children.

So rather than reliving just the good times, I want to relive both the good and the bad because, at least for me, they can't be separated.

What times will you relive?

Sometimes I'm a Bit Clueless

When I was in high school, I often had too much time on my hands. Worse, I had a camera to document it! The below movies were the result of a boring Saturday when 2 friends of I were sitting around with nothing to do. Out of the blue one of us said: "Let's make a movie!" So we grabbed a video camera and pretty much started shooting. Fortunately, we had a lot of good friends who joined in when we asked (and did a pretty good job improving everything then and there). They may regret it now.

So, even though our reputations may never recover, I offer you the complete Clueless Detectives, a movie that stands as a a shining example of why you should never give a video camera to 3 high school boys with nothing better to do on a windy day.

Enjoy!

 

 

The Answers are Blowin' in the Wind

Windstorm, 2011
I love the "blustery day" sequence in the old Winnie-the-Pooh movies/books. It is a great sequence and I love how it ends with Pooh rescuing his best friend—albeit, unknowingly. I grew up in a very windy place where local legend says that the founders stopped there to wait out the wind and, since it never stopped, they built a town (as good an explanation as any), so I could relate to a "Windsday" as Pooh calls it.

I remember a particularly bad windstorm where my brother and I watched our neighbor's shed blow across the street into our yard where it crumpled into a mess of thin sheet metal. The next year he bought another one and I got to watch that one take a trip across the street as well. I also remember taking sheets and catching the wind with them so it would drag us along the ground.

The wind would often blow for weeks at a time. People in my hometown would literally go nuts listening to the gale day-in and day-out day-after-day-after-day. Nobody blamed them.
Good times.

So, when the weathermen predicted a bad windstorm for my new hometown last week, I didn't really think much of it. I mean, it's just wind, right?

On Thursday, we woke up to find our big pine tree knocked over by that wind. The tree missed our house, which was a good thing, and no one was hurt, another very good thing, but it did manage to land on our power lines, knock down a telephone pole, and damage the mast where the power connects to our house.

To make a long, very cold story short, we were without power for a few days and had to huddle in front of our fireplace waiting for the electricians and power company to get everything back in shape.

In the end, we weren't really too bad off. Sure, we got pretty cold (the thermostat read "48" when we could turn the heater back on), but we were all safe and we had a fireplace to help keep us warm, a luxury many of our neighbors didn't have (the entire city was out for nearly 24 hours).
The best part is that the insurance is covering pretty much everything, including the tree removal. Home insurance really sucks... until it doesn't.

The days without power were an interesting experience. We got to appreciate what our forebears must have gone through on a day-to-day basis to settle this area. And the kids got the experience of life without TV or video games or computers or even light in the bathroom. Most of the time, it was kind of fun and the kids started looking at it as an adventure. In fact, after it was all over, Joey told us we could count that for our adventure this month. We just may...

But beyond the adventure, there was something I really liked about the experience: Because the rest of the house was an icebox, all of us huddle in the same room and actually spent time together! I read half of A Christmas Carol to the kids (one of my favorites), they played board games on the floor in front of the fire, we roasted hot dogs and made s'mores, and in general, just spent time together. The kids didn't even really fight much! One particularly fun memory was watching the kids sit around the fire telling scary stories to each other. It was almost sick it was so idyllic!

It made me wonder if it was possible to have that same kind of "together time" without a windstorm knocking out the power or another more drastic disaster. Jenna and I have toyed with the idea of dropping the thermostat a few degrees to make the house colder and then building a fire to "encourage" everyone to gather in the front room. We've talked about turning off the TV and reading to each other a bit more, and other things like that. 

The problem with all of our ideas is that they are easy to say, and I can even see us doing them once in a while, but they are hard to do on any kind of consistent basis. I like my house at a comfortable 68-degrees. And we all like watching movies—a lot. So I wonder how often we will actually be able to do it.

Maybe the song is right and "the answers are blowin' in the wind." Maybe we need wind or something like that to help us remember that we actually like being together and like being a family.

Or maybe the wind has just made me crazy. It wouldn't be the first time.

One Moment of Parenting

It is funny how, as your kids get older, you begin to understand the pain that you put your parents through. This week brought that into sharp focus when the kids brought home their report cards.

For the most part, the report cards were very good, but Joey is failing in one, very important area. It brought back a very bitter memory of my own time in elementary school and I suddenly understood things that didn't entirely make sense to me at the time.

It happened when I was in sixth grade—the year I pretty much wrote off school. That year my teacher was... how to say this politely... not the best for me. He made it too easy for me to skip assignments and space out in class. I'm not blaming him for how I acted that year or for my grades, I'm just saying that his easy-going, hands-off teaching style just made my bad attitude about school worse.

That year I missed a lot of assignments. I think it was somewhere around half in some subject areas that I thought were stupid. My grades, which, until 5th grade, had been pretty good, dropped dramatically. But until 6th grade I'd always managed to pull off mostly Bs and Cs with the minimal effort I put into my school work. In 6th grade, I all but stopped trying and my grades slipped to Cs and Ds.

I honestly don't remember learning anything that year. I remember winning a writing competition and going to NAU to meet a real author (a highlight of my youth), but I don't remember a single thing I learned beyond that. I do, however, remember some of the stupid things I did to avoid having to think about certain subjects. Health was my worst subject. Not because I didn't understand it, but because I thought it was stupid and pointless. I went to extraordinary lengths to avoid thinking about health, including using the bubble sheets for our health quizzes to make fun patterns like zigzags and circles and things. I also remember not wanting to "waste" my time on the subject so rushing through assignments like answering "True, False, True, False, True, False" rather than even reading the questions.

Needless to say, my attitude came out in my grades and the fateful day when I got my first (and only) "F" arrived.

I knew that it was coming and that there wasn't anything I could do about it. So a few days before report cards came out, I asked my mom what she would do if I brought home an "F" on my report card. Her answer surprised me.

"I'll probably cry," she said. "And then... I don't know."

And that is exactly what happened. When I gave her my card, she didn't say anything— much worse than if she'd yelled. She just went into her room and cried for what seemed like a very long time. I felt terrible.

At the time, I really didn't understand why she was crying. After all, it was MY grade and MY fault. What did it have to do with her? Somehow I felt that it was unfair.

On Monday, I finally understood.

When Joey brought home his report card with the failing grade, it made me sick. The thing is, I wasn't upset at him so much as upset at myself. I knew that he bore some of the fault, but I felt like it was more my fault. I felt like I had failed him in some way. It made me feel terrible and, like my mother, I cried.

I suddenly understood what I never could as a child. As parents we care so much about our kids. Right or wrong, we hold ourselves responsible for their success and failure. When they succeed, we are happy. When they fail, we feel it almost more than they do.

I think that the key is that we, as parents, are better equipped to see the long-term effects of their actions. Also, we can see ourselves in them, so we feel it more.

Oddly enough, it made me think of a Simpsons episode. In the episode, Bart does something bad (can't remember what) and Homer punishes him by refusing to let Bart go to the new Itchy & Scratchy movie. It is the first time Homer has ever punished Bart and made it stick. Always before he gave in after Bart put on the miserable act. This time is different because Homer is haunted by the thought that Bart could end up as a criminal or a Supreme Court Justice depending on whether Homer punishes him or not. So, no matter how hard Bart tries to get Homer to change his mind, Homer sticks with his guns.

The episode ends several years later with Homer and Bart—now a Supreme Court Justice thanks to Homer's one moment of parenting—walking along the streets of Springfield. They see that the movie theater is playing the Itchy & Scratchy film. Now that Bart has grown into a great man, they agree to see it together. When Itchy (the mouse) does something mean to Scratchy that, to some degree, mirrors the terrible act that Bart did earlier, Homer comments that "Itchy is a jerk." Bart laughs and puts his arm around his dad's shoulders. "Yes he is," he says.

Okay, not exactly related to Joey's issue, but as a father, I can relate to Homer's dilemma. He felt responsible—COMPLETELY responsible—for how Bart turned out in the future. Bart's future happiness pivoted solely on whether or not Homer could actually punish him and therefore teach him the consequences of bad behavior. 

I think that the fact that  Homer's one moment of parenting really did have the desired impact on his son is both a parent's greatest dream and worst nightmare. We love the idea that we can make such a difference in the lives of our children, but it is terrifying to think that we may screw them up beyond repair.

That was how I felt about Joey. I felt like his failure was actually mine. That I was a bad parent because I hadn't taught him correctly. Whether that was true or not didn't matter. I am his father, he is my responsibility and as a result I will always feel that what he does says just as much about me as it does about him.

It made me understand how my mother felt. I suddenly understood why my "F" caused her to cry. She felt like she had failed—that she hadn't been the mother she should have been.

Today, I can honestly tell her that it wasn't her fault. It was all mine. And I am very sorry I made her feel that way.

I can only hope that we can reach Joey like she reached me. Maybe he'll wind up as a Supreme Court Justice.

Beware the Ides of March

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About a year ago, I blogged about my eyes (link to it here), where I talked about the grieving process I was going through for my particular eye condition. In that post I talked about the eventual likelihood that someday I will need a corneal transplant—that a cornea from a donor would have to be grafted in my eye. Well, that day came sooner than I expected. In fact, it is coming on March 15--the Ides of March. About a month ago, I went to the optometrist to have my eyes checked. He looked at my left eye (which they can't even get a reading on anymore) and said: "Wow! I've never seen... that's pretty bad, like, textbook bad." He referred me to a corneal specialist at the Eye Institute (my previous optometrist referred me to the same person). On Friday, Jenna and I hauled Hayden and Mina to the specialist who told me that all other options have been exhausted. If I want better vision, I need a transplant in my left eye. The thing is that I can still see—mostly. There is a lot of ghosting and lights have very dramatic halos, and I often get headaches that I think are caused by my eyes straining, but I can still see. I'm writing this and can read the words, even though they are pretty small. But what worries me is driving at night, which is getting more and more difficult because the headlights and taillights flare so much that it is hard to see the road, especially when it is wet and has more reflections that flare as well. Also, looking at computer screens is getting harder, which obviously concerns me because it is a big part of my job. As when I wrote my first blog post about this topic, I feel a bit conflicted. It will be great to see better, but the whole thing scares me, and it is still very odd to think of having a part of someone else grafted into my body—or the idea that someone has to die for my eyesight to improve. Last night I talked with my brother, who is an optometrist, about it. We discussed several of the potential complications and things to look out for. We also talked about how this will change my life in the future. My brother said, "Remember that this isn't the end. It is a change—the beginning of a whole new adventure." And maybe that is the best way to think about it: an adventure. But that doesn't make it any less scary.

Do you Facebook?

Recently I had a conversation with a friend that got me to thinking. The conversation focused on technological advances in general and Facebook in particular. This friend, who I will not name, is adamantly opposed to Facebook, which is his absolute right. But it was his reason for being opposed that I felt was a bit--maybe not odd, because I've heard the same argument from other people before--but perhaps a bit short-sighted or even false. His argument for not using Facebook was simple: People lived just fine before Facebook was invented, so I can, too. And the truth is that he is absolutely correct. People survived just fine without Facebook and his refusal to jointhe site will, in no way, impede his ability to survive or even to enjoy life. That wasn't my problem. My problem was that he is looking at the whole thing all wrong. First of all, Facebook wasn't created as a necessity of life. It was created as a way to help people keep in touch with others and even connect with those with whom they have lost touch. And it does both of those things very well. I grew up in a very small town in northeastern Arizona. After graduation, my high school class (94 students) scattered across the United States and even around the globe. I myself spent 2 years in southern Chile, several moved to Phoenix, and others moved all over the place. I quickly lost touch with all but a very few of my friends. This was not because I didn't want to communicate with them, it was just that communication took a lot of time. Could I live without knowing where they were or what they were up to? Sure. And I did. For several years after I returned from Chile, my life went on just fine. I kept in contact with the few friends I could still find and heard rumors about other ones through the town gossip line (I mentioned that the town was small, right?). But I still wondered how some of them were doing and wished that there was a way to contact them. A few years before the Facebook revolution, I attended a reuinion, where I met some of my old friends. It was so great to see them, but the short hours afforded at the reunion weren't enough to really re-connect. I got a few email addresses, but that was it. Then came Facebook and viola! Suddenly many of my high school friends, along with several of my Chilean friends and many others friends that I've made over the years, can be found in a single, easy-to-use space. I can chat with them, find out what is going on in their lives, and even see pictures. On top of that, it reminds me when i need to send out birthday cards or other important events. And friends can invite me to reunions and get togethers, which are always fun. Are there problems? Yes. I hate the Facebook games and couldn't care less if my friend John wants my help in on his virtual farm, I'm never going to do it. I sometimes worry about security and set my security to a very high level to protect myself as much as possible. Sometimes I get invites from people I don't know or really don't want to reconnect with. And some of my friends posts are ... well, let's just say that they are less interesting than others. But those are minor inconveniences that I gladly put up with for the value that I feel I get from Facebook. But the good and bad of Facebook are actually not the point of this post. They can be argued left and right forever and the argument will always come down to personal opinion, so it's kind of pointless. What I want to point out is that, regardless of how much I enjoy Facebook, I have never considered it necessary for a happy life. Does reconnecting with my friends make me happy. Absolutely. Could I be happy without them? Absolutely, though I would (and did) miss some of the friends that I now get to hear from on a regular basis. And that's my first problem with what my friend said: Surviving and being happy before or after Facebook aren't really the point. Facebook is just a way--an optional way--to enhance life, and that is it. So my first objection is a simple technicality--the statement that people lived just fine before Facebook is irrelevant as it was never meant to be more than an enhancement to life. The real question is whether people feel that their lives have been enhanced by Facebook. That goes back to personal preference and, to a large degree, experience and I'm fine with that. But as I thought about my friend's statement, another thought struck me: can't you say that exact same thing about pretty much ANY technology? TV? check. Cars? check. Microwaves? check. Modern farming equipment? sure, that, too. See, that is the problem that has troubled me since my discussion with my friend. Personally, I don't honestly care one way or the other whether he uses Facebook or not, but it reflects an attitude I think is problematic: the "reject all change because the past was just fine" attitude. As someone who works in technology, I see this all the time. A short time ago a user at work actually accused me of not doing my job because my team changed things too much. It didn't matter to him that over 95% of our user base not only approves of the changes but has commented many times on how much more productive those same changes make their jobs. "Things were working just fine before," this particular employee said, so to him the changes were a bad thing because why would you change something that is working? A couple of nights ago Jenna and I discussed this same idea regarding pregnancy and birth. In her most recent class, she is learning about child development and the class got into a debate over how much the medical industry should be involved in childbirth. One of the students all but called all mothers who do not have natural births in their own home irresponsible (she also claimed that when she had children, she was sure she would find a comfortable position to pop them out and that there was NEVER a good reason to induce labor). That bothered Jenna quite a bit and we discussed it late into the night. As humans I think we have a tendency to romanticize the past while ignoring the hard facts of that time. Today it seems to be in fashion to idolize the 1950s—especially the 1950s portrayed in I Love Lucy and Leave it to Beaver, where the husband and wife slept in separate beds and they couldn't show a toilet on national television (dead serious, check out this little factoid on Snopes.com). But we forget that there were serious problems in the '50s. Racism and abuse were rampant, women had few rights and less respect, much of the world economy was still reeling from World War II, communism had half the world terrified of the other half and neighbors terrified of neighbors, smoking was encouraged by doctors and The Flintstones, and so on. Even worse, a lot of people seem to be getting nostalgic for the days of the Founding Fathers, when disease killed off most people before they reached what we now consider middle age, people were often hung for minor offenses, and slaves were a regular part of life for a lot of Americans. Please don't think I'm suggesting that things like Facebook or other technologies have anything to do with solving those kinds of problems. They don't. But my point is that it is foolish to think of the past as having many advantages over modern day life. Are there problems today? Yes. Are they worse than the past? Maybe, maybe not. A lot of the time I lean towards "not." The Dark Ages, for example, just seem to be a bummer all around except for a handful of people who happened to be born into the extremely inbred breed of royalty—and then they were lucky only if they were male. So whether you Facebook or not really isn't a big deal to me. True, you will probably hear more from me if you do Facebook, but I can appreciate your decision not to. But please don't use the excuse that the world got along just fine without it. Truth is, life on this planet got along pretty well without all of us as well. But I don't think we want to return to those days, do we?

A Taste of Chile

Most people who know me know that I served a religious mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints shortly after I turned 19. For the better part of 2 years, I lived with and served the people of southern Chile. My mission was the greatest experience of my pre-Jenna life. It was amazing to live with and serve those wonderful people and I often miss it. Unfortunately, I don't miss their food much. Most of it was bland and the rest of it was ... well, let's just say it wasn't my favorite. Those who saw me not long after I returned home thought I had caught a parasite or something because I'd lost so much weight (I have since gained it back with interest--maybe I should go back to Chile). There were a few exceptions to my not liking the food. For example, I love completos (Chilean hot dogs) and empanadas. And, of course, there was all the food I ate while living in the house with the professional chef. The other day, I prepared my family one of the dishes I had in that home: Stuffed Acorn Squash. I've made it before (all from memory--mostly of how it tasted rather than how it was cooked), but this time it was better than ever before. So, before I forget what I did, here is the recipe:

Stuffed Acorn Squash

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Makes 8 servings (1/2 squash = 1 serving)

Ingredients*

  • 4 large acorn squash
  • 4 cups cooked rice
  • 1 pound hamburger
  • 1 can sliced mushrooms (or 1/2 package fresh sliced mushrooms if you prefer)
  • 1/2 medium onion (diced)
  • 1 large can cream of mushroom soup (or 2 small ones)
  • 1/4 cup shredded cheese (we used cheddar, but you could probably use anything. My guess is that Monterey Jack would be awesome)
  • 1 tbsp Worcestershire Sauce
  • 1 tbsp Montreal Steak Seasoning (this stuff is a must in any kitchen)
* All measurements are estimates. I really don't measure things when I cook.

Instructions

  1. Preheat the over to 400°.
  2. Cut the squash in half, lengthwise (tip to stem).
  3. Remove the seeds and the stringy stuff from the squash.
  4. Put the squash on a large bar pan with the yellow side up. Add about 1/4 of an inch of water to the bottom of the pan (this will help make the squash nice and tender).
  5. Put the squash in the oven and cook for 30 minutes.
  6. While the squash is cooking, add the hamburger, diced onion, mushrooms, Montreal Steak Seasoning, and Worcestershire sauce to a pan and mix over high heat until hamburger is browned.
  7. Add the rice and cream of mushroom soup to the hamburger mixture.
  8. Cook the hamburger-rice mixture on medium-low for several minutes, stirring occasionally, until it is thoroughly warmed through.
  9. Let the hamburger-rice mixture warm until the squash is cooked.
  10. Remove the squash from the oven.
  11. Fill each squash with some of the hamburger-rice mixture (it should create a small dome over the top of the squash).
  12. Sprinkle the top of each squash with about a tbsp of cheese.
  13. Return the squash to the oven (make sure that there is still water in the pan) for 30 minutes.
  14. Serve and enjoy.
We served it with a Chilean salad made from 1/4 cabbage (shredded), a little vegetable oil (about 1 tbsp), a lot of lemon juice (about 3 tbsps--add to flavor), and a little salt. It was very good. Believe it or not, my kids, who aren't very fond of squash, loved the meal and most had seconds. So it looks like we have a hit on our hands. It makes a great Fall dinner. Enjoy!

Meet Mina Brooke Moulton

[caption id="attachment_281" align="aligncenter" width="200" caption="Mina Brooke Moulton"]
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[/caption] Today Jenna and I went to the hospital where Jenna gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Name: Mina Brooke Moulton Born: August 31, 2010, 6:06 PM Height: 21.5 inches Weight: 10 pounds Mommy and baby are both doing great. [caption id="attachment_288" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Mommy and Daddy leave for the hospital."]
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[/caption] [caption id="attachment_274" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Mommy says hello to her baby girl."]
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[/caption] [caption id="attachment_273" align="aligncenter" width="200" caption="Mina wraps Daddy around her little finger."]
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[caption id="attachment_275" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Mommy, Daddy, and Mina"]
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[/caption] [caption id="attachment_276" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Aren't I cute?"]
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[/caption] [caption id="attachment_277" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="The kids meet their youngest sister."]
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[caption id="attachment_280" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Our big little girl."]
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[/caption] [caption id="attachment_283" align="aligncenter" width="200" caption="Mommy and her 5 kids."]
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[/caption] [caption id="attachment_284" align="aligncenter" width="200" caption="Miranda and Mina."]
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[/caption] [caption id="attachment_286" align="aligncenter" width="200" caption="Joey and Mina."]
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[/caption] [caption id="attachment_285" align="aligncenter" width="200" caption="Chissa and Mina."]
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[/caption] [caption id="attachment_287" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Hayden and Mina."]
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[/caption] [caption id="attachment_293" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="The girls."]
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The Chissa Effect

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We recently returned from a week-long trip to Disneyland. It was a lot of fun and the kids loved it, especially because Jenna and I had tricked them into thinking we were going to Denver and then left a half-day earlier then they were expecting. But, while rushing from line to line and spending a few minutes on the rides are all fond memories, I think I will most remember something I saw Charissa, our 7-year-old, do. It was while we were in California Adventure waiting for the Grizzly Rapids ride. Jenna and Hayden, who couldn't ride because they were too pregnant and too short respectively, were off having fun elsewhere while I waited in the interminable line with the other three. The ride is one of those rafting rides that takes you through simulated rapids and waterfalls. It is a lot of fun, but what I will remember most happened long before we ever boarded the raft. One part of the line crosses a bridge that overlooks the tail-end of the rapids trail. Previous rafters float under the bridge on their way to the unloading station. As we were paused indefinitely on the bridge, I was watching Joey and Miranda goof around, then realized Chissa had fallen a bit behind. I looked back and found her standing on her tiptoes looking down at the rafts passing under the bridge. As each raft passed underneath, she grinned her biggest grin and waved at them. The interesting part was that, whenever someone in the rafts noticed her, their faces, which were already happy (I mean, they were in the "Happiest Place on Earth"), lit up. It suddenly took me back to the day, several years earlier, when Chissa, then 1-year-old, caught her finger in a van door and we had to rush to the hospital. The tip of her finger was all but severed and, as you can imagine, she cried a lot. But, as hour after hour passed in the emergency room and we still waited for a doctor, her tears dried and she started wandering about, looking at the many different kinds of people there. It was fascinating to watch her as she walked from person to person, just wearing her diaper and with her arm bandaged all the way to the shoulder. She would pause at each person, lean over, wave to them, and smile. Immediately, the faces of those she observed—even the handcuffed guy standing in front of two imposing police officers—lit up as they waved back at this little girl with a bandaged arm. I've often thought about that moment, and every time I have, I marveled at the amount of joy that one little child brought to one of the most depressing places anyone can ever visit. I often wonder at how she was able to put aside her own pain and take the time to notice people—to smile at them and make their lives a bit more bearable. It makes me wonder, how much better would life be if we all followed Chissa's example and really noticed those around us and took the time to do something as simple as smile and wave to them. Maybe it wouldn't be enough to change the world. But perhaps it would be. Isn't it worth a try?