Mike Lee.org » Childhood

All Tucked In for the Night

Mike Lee — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 20:34:58 +0000

Ready for another ghost story? I heard this one in high school.

It happened to a girl in my high school class. A friend of hers told me the story. I wasn’t friends with the girl herself — a short, timid brunette — but saw her around school all the time.

She has fond memories as a little girl of her parents tucking her in at night. Though she would usually look up at her parents with a smile, there were nights when she was so tuckered out that she closed her eyes and enjoyed the comfort of the tight sheets.

However, there were a few times where she would open her eyes as she felt them tucking her in, and see a dark, empty bedroom. Then she would look around and see the sheets halfway tucked in, as if someone was in the process of doing it — then stopped.

Those were just hazy memories though. She never thought much of them. Maybe she was just imagining being tucked in. Maybe she was having a dream. Maybe they had tucked her in earlier and she tossed & turned, pulling the sheets halfway out. Explanations abounded.

Her parents’ habit of tucking her in died out around her adolescent years. They figured she was old enough to tuck herself in by then. So she forgot all about the comfort of being tucked in.

Until one night.

She was perhaps thirteen or fourteen. Like every other night, she got into bed and began to drift into sleep. Then she felt her covers tightening around her. And there was a pat on her shoulder.

She opened her eyes. There was no one there. Just her dark, empty bedroom.

Downstairs, she could hear her parents talking. She shivered and pulled her sheets even tighter. Her mind wandered a bit, wondering if she had imagined all of that. Mercifully, she eventually drifted into sleep.

The tuck and pat happened again though. And again. And again. Maybe about once a week with no discernable pattern.

After a month of these sensations, she decided to tell her parents about them. Just to let them know, not to alarm them or anything. It was a spooky sensation, but she didn’t dwell on them much.

When she told her parents, her father’s face froze. She and her mother stared at his expression in confusion. Then he sat them down at the kitchen table and decided to share the background story about their house.

He had purchased the house cheap. They weren’t in a strong financial position, so the low price was very appealing. Her mother thought the house looked lovely, but never asked why it was so cheap. Her father did ask. This is what he was told.

The previous family was murdered in the house. The father had gotten up early one morning and decided to kill his wife and children as they slept. Then he buried the bodies in the backyard.

The murderous father was convicted and sentenced. The bodies of the family were exhumed and given a proper burial. So this girl’s father didn’t think there would be much of a problem here. He wasn’t the type to believe in ghosts and saw no reason to alarm his family with such a story — not when this house was such a bargain.

But since they moved in, he encountered strange events as well. Errant shadows on the way. Footsteps in the hallway. A prickly feeling on the back of his neck. Children’s laughter.

Hearing his daughter relate a similar experience gave him all the motivation he needed. They began making preparations to move. I heard this story just as they were about to close on a new property.

I followed up on the story a year later. In the new house, the girl and her family has had no a further encounters or sensations. It seems they were escaped whatever lingering ghosts lived in that old house of murderous past, even if the ghosts were caring enough to tuck a little girl in.

Despicable

Mike Lee — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 20:34:24 +0000

The little boy stood in front of his class. He cleared his throat. Second-grade eyes watched intently as he ruffled the piece of paper in his hands. Then he started.

“I know you all think I am despicable. But I think you all are despicable.”

The second graders blinked. Despicable? They didn’t know this word. Only the little boy did, being the advanced reader he was.

The teacher also knew the word. She watched on, her mouth wide open, eyes unblinking.

The little boy exaggerated the enunciation of the word. Des-PIC-a-ble. It was almost like Daffy Duck was standing in front of the room delivering this speech. You could almost see the spit springing from his lips.

As the little boy continued, the teacher put her hands over her mouth. “Must… not…” Her thoughts struggled. “Must… not…” Tears bubbled in her eyes. “Must… not… laugh…”

But it was all too much. The little boy’s speech became a incredulous cacophony to the teacher’s reddening ears. She buried her head into her hands just as her lips burst forth. Face-down at her desk, the teacher buckled into hysterics.

The other students blinked again. They still didn’t understand. What was this word? Why was their teacher crying?

That’s what they thought. They thought she was crying.

And so, one by one, the other students started crying too. As the little boy continued his despicable speech, the entire class was washed in a wave of tears.

“Wah ha ha ha ha ha!” the teacher cackled.

“Waa waa waa waa!” the students cried.

“Des-PIC-a-ble, all of you,” the little boy continued.

And so ended the funniest, saddest, most despicable little second-grade speech ever. True story. Every last despicable word of it.

I’ve Always Pissed People Off, Even As a Kid

Mike Lee — Sun, 12 Apr 2009 20:34:10 +0000

I don’t remember how old we were exactly. Perhaps I was three and my brother was one? Maybe younger?

I don’t even remember incident, it was so long ago. When I saw the photograph, however, I had to cringe. And laugh.

The photograph is gone now. Mysteriously disappeared.

“Did you throw it away?” my brother asks.

I didn’t. No way would I ever do that. It was a piece of history, a hilarious piece at that. I would never throw away a memento like that.

“Man, I remember that picture,” he adds with a chuckle.

We search up and down the house for it. But nada. It was gone.

My parents remember the incident. They laugh every time we talk about it. So they help us search for it too. But still nada. Long gone.

What a shame to lose this piece of history. It depicts my brother and me in a very particular moment.

To understand its significance, you have to understand my brother. He’s a hilarious guy, though the younger siblings of my grade school classmates told me they found him intimidating.

Indeed, he’s never had a problem speaking his mind, nor usurping authority figures if he disagreed with them. This has led to some squabbles and infractions and, I’m sure, a few pissed off teachers and principals.

So the photograph?

It is a picture of my brother and me, still wee toddlers, in the bathtub together. I am sitting in the tub of water, crying. He is standing in front of me, peeing into the water with a big toothy grin.

“I totally want that picture,” my brother continues. “It’s like the perfect example of how I’ve always pissed people off, even as a kid.”

My parents and I laugh. Indeed it is. I really hope we can find this picture again.

From Pom Pom Balls to Small Business Owner

Mike Lee — Sun, 22 Mar 2009 20:34:13 +0000

I’m not sure when it first hit me. The desire to become an entrepreneur, I mean. All I know is, it has something to do with a pom-pom ball, some felt, and a pair of rolly eyeballs.

I blame it all on my Dad.

My Dad set up the foundation when I was in grade school. He came home from work one evening with a bunch of fuzzy pom-pom balls, sheets of felt, fabric glue, scissors, and a bag of plastic rolly eyeballs, top hats, baseball caps, and other assorted accessories.

The goal for my brother and I was to create a community of pom-pom people.

First, we cut out pairs of feet with the felt. Then we glued these feet to the pom-pom balls. Next, we glued a pair of eyes on each pom-pom. Finally, we individualized each one with accessories. Some received top hats. Some got baseball caps. A few had baseball caps on backwards because they were the bad-asses.

I have no idea how my Dad came by this idea. Maybe from a television show? Maybe from a magazine article? I wonder.

The next day, my Dad took these pom-pom people to work and sold them to his coworkers. He sold every single one.

Inspired by the demand, our family spent the next few weeks creating more pom-pom communities. We diversified and created all kinds of original accessories. My brother gave one a shield and sword-toothpick. I gave another a painter’s palette with swabs of paint (pieces of different colored fabric) and a paint brush-toothpick.

One of our favorites was a black pom-pom with a toothpick we colored red and a black piece of felt around his back — a lightsaber and cape. Get it? Pom-pom Darth Vader! Ah, to be young and imaginative.

Demand remained steady for a month or so. Production kept up with demand steadily. In other words, coworkers kept buying them and we kept making them.

He gave us portions of the money. Some of it was allotted to bank accounts my parents opened for us. Though we were too young to use any of that money, they instilled the virtue of saving money even back then. The remaining cash was used to buy toys and comic books.

Then we saturated the market. Demand fell. We had to scale production back. The unsold pom-pom people remained at my Dad’s desk until he sold every last one in the trailing months. My brother and I kept a few choice favorites back home. I still have a pom-pom painter.

The next time I engaged in an entrepreneurial activity was college, where I used my meager training in graphic and web design to do some freelance work. I did a few small jobs here and there, getting paid what I thought was a mountain of money, though I realize now it was pennies compared to what professional freelancers made.

Having a taste of freelance work was but a sip of being self-employed, a common baby step towards entrepreneurship. The desire to be a business owner always stuck in my peripheral though — not just to be self-employed, but to be a business owner. Not as a freelancer, but as a leader who manages a company of employees doing something fun, profitable, and worthwhile.

Fast forward to 2007, way after the collapse of the Wild West Web. I finally decided to take a gulp, turn my head, and stare straight at entrepreneurship. I flirted with a few ideas, started a few projects, and did a few cool things with some friends, all of which further whet my appetite.

A year ago, I finally founded a formal business with two other entrepreneurs.

It’s still a young company, but it is already profitable, which is saying a lot in the current economic recession. Years of learning, preparing, and planning are beginning to pay off.

I just moved to a new apartment too. While unpacking, I found my old pom pom painter. A grand grin grew on my face. Life was coming full circle. That pom pom guy is sitting on my laptop right now as I write this. Once I finish, I’m going back to work (there is no such thing as a weekend for an entrepreneur).

What a journey it has been, from a pom pom ball to a small business owner. Thanks Dad! I can’t wait to buy my kids a bag of (metaphorical) pom pom balls too.

Growing Old

Mike Lee — Sun, 06 Jan 2008 20:34:31 +0000

“I intend to live forever. So far, so good.”
- Anonymous

“I look forward to growing old.”

“Are you insane?” Lisa gasped. She regarded me like a little puppy that just ate his own poop.

I shrugged. “Why, you don’t at all?”

“I repeat: Are you insane?” She waved her hand dismissively. “You know what? Don’t even answer that.”

“Insane in the membrane,” I said in a small voice. She ignored me.

“I would love to be a kid again. To have no responsibilities, no worries, no stress. To wake up and be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons.” She looked out the window and sighed. “Life was so much easier back then.”

I leaned back and took a sip of hot mocha. “Was it really? As a kid, weren’t you in a rush to grow up and be an adult, so you could drive and drink and do grown-up things?”

“Well, sure, every kid wants that. But they don’t know any better.”

“And as a teen, weren’t you always stressed out about something dumb? Like over who you liked or who to take to the prom or final exams?”

Lisa pushed her macchiato aside. “Childhood is an idyllic time. Who to take to the prom is such a smaller thing than say, a mortgage you can barely meet. Right? Even someone as insane as you can agree with that.”

“Sure, but not to the kid at that time. When you’re a kid, every little problem seems like the end of the world. And that’s a lot of stress.”

She deflated into her chair. One listless hand picked up her macchiato and swirled it. “Still, I can’t help but think back to being a kid and missing those days.”

I took another sip of hot mocha. It was cooling off now. “I know what you mean. Relative to adult problems, kid problems are much, much smaller.”

“So,” she put her macchiato down, “why do you look forward to growing old?”

“You’re going to think I’m even more insane than you already do.”

“Impossible. I already think you’re damn insane. But go on.”

“Okay.” I cleared my throat and sat up straight. “I look forward to the extra responsibilities. Like: immediate and extended family; house and mortgage; potential businesses and investments. I look forward to being able to do more things, to understanding more about life, and to being responsible for bigger issues.”

Lisa arched one eyebrow. I continued. “I have these big goals of changing the world, right? Changing the education system, starting socially-beneficial companies, etc, right?” She nodded. “Those are my stretch goals. My realistic goals are to have a good family, to be the kind of grandfather who tells his grandkids lots of stories, and to be a writer.”

Lisa scratched her head. A loose strand of hair dangled and she tied it back up. I continued. “Personally, I didn’t like a lot of my childhood. I spent most of my energy trying not to be made fun of by racists. But it’s taught me to be much stronger. And I’ve found that each successive year that I live has been better and brighter than the last.”

I leaned back and shuffled in my chair. “Whoa, I feel like I just took a major dump.” She swirled her macchiato, then took a sip. I could tell she was digesting. Outside, a group of kids wandered by, followed by a loner. He looked at me and scurried off.

“You’re certainly one goal-oriented guy,” she declared. “I guess can see why you look forward to growing old too. People who have rough childhoods, then go on to make something of their lives, tend to look to the future.”

“It’s not that I had a rough childhood though,” I added.

“Right, right, I know. I don’t mean you had a bad one. But you didn’t have an idyllic one, at least. And since you’re someone who actually sets goals and achieves them, each successive goal you reach must feel great.”

I blushed. “Well, I…”

“Plus, and most importantly,” she started. I waited on the perch of my seat as she leaned forward and looked me straight in the eye. “You’re insane.”

“In the membrane,” I whispered.

She groaned. “And plus, who the hell doesn’t look back fondly at childhood and playing with toys and watching cartoons and having no worries?”

“What? Didn’t you just say…”

“Don’t even answer that.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Insane people never know when they’re insane. Tell that to your grandkids.”

Please Don’t Kill Our Planet

Mike Lee — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 20:34:31 +0000

Dear Adults,

Hi. I am a little boy living in a small town in America. One day, I will grow up and be an adult just like you.

I am writing to ask you something very important to me. Please don’t kill our planet.

My parents tell me how fun it is to be an adult. My Mom said there are great big waterfalls in the woods near our house. My Mom said there are hiking trails that go up and up and up. They sound like a lot of fun. I can’t wait to hike on them.

My Dad said there are beautiful animals all over the world. My Dad said there are kangaroos in Australia and pandas in China. I saw pictures of them on the TV. I would like to see them one day and pet them and feed them.

I don’t know if I can because our planet is dying. I learned in school that our planet is getting polluted by factories, cars, airplanes, garbage, and pesticides. All of those things are killing our planet. One day, our planet will be a big stinky ball.

I don’t want to live on a big stinky ball. Every time a garbage truck comes by our house, it smells so stinky. If our planet smelled like that, I would hurl like Chris did in the cafeteria at school yesterday. It was yucky.

I have a little sister too. She can’t walk yet. I get sad when I think about the planet she is going to have. I am sad already that I can’t swim at the beach anymore. My Dad says the water is too polluted now. My Dad says I would get sick if I swam in that water.

So I am writing for my little sister too. She will never get a chance to swim at that beach like I did. She loves playing in the water. I know because I got her a rubber duckie for her birthday and it is her favorite toy.

I learned in school that our president did not want to sign a treaty to help the planet. I learned all about bills and treaties and laws. I think a treaty that helps our planet is good for all of us. I don’t know why our president did not want to do it. My teacher tried to tell us why, but I did not get what she said.

Maybe it is because I am just a kid and don’t understand these things. I hope when I grow up, I will understand too. I bet you understand because you are an adult. That’s why I can’t wait to be an adult, so I can be big and smart like you.

I still wish you adults would stop polluting our planet though. I really like living here. My Mom and I recycle all of our glass and cans and paper. My Dad set up a compost heap in the backyard too. My Dad said we all have to do our part to save our planet.

I think if more adults recycled, we could help our planet. My teacher said some adults already do that, but not everyone. My teacher said there are many that still pollute and are killing our planet. I hope you are not one of those adults.

My little sister crawled next to me. I told her to wave at all the adults. Maybe if all of you saw my little sister, you would not want to pollute anymore. My parents said when my sister and I grow up, we will have to take care of the planet. I think that will be very hard to do if the planet is already dying.

I can’t wait to see the great big waterfalls in the woods near our house. I can’t wait to see kangaroos in Australia and pandas in China. I want to take my little sister to see them too, with her rubber duckie that I got her. I hope we can see them before they all become too polluted, like the beach, because then we will never get to see them.

Please don’t kill our planet. I don’t want our planet to be a big stinky ball. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Little boy

Ginger

Mike Lee — Sun, 26 Aug 2007 20:34:36 +0000

It was sometime around my freshman year of college when I got the call. I still remember it to this day.

Cute as a button and small as a purse, Ginger was a scampering, yipping puff of hair. She was a tiny black Pomeranian, which is classified as a toy dog breed because they’re small like children’s toys.

Our cousins gave her to us, back when she could fit in a mug. They called her Cookie, because she loved cookies. My Mom carried her home in her purse.

My parents tell me I named her Ginger, though I don’t remember doing that. I’m guessing it was a reference to Gilligan’s Island, which is strange because I always liked Mary Ann better.

She had a habit of going after socks. Sometimes she’d somehow get her tiny head into a sock, then run around aimlessly trying to get the sock off. It was the weirdest sight. A little black dog with a dangling sock over her head, scrambling around and bumping into walls. Really weird.

With a face like a fox, she looked like a stuffed animal. She loved to scamper beneath your feet too. Since she’s black, it was sometimes hard to see her darting around at night. So occasionally, I’d step on her. Oops.

She was a feisty little pup. Full of energy and life, she’d sometimes chase her own tail in dizzy circles. Then she’d stop and stand there, wobbling. I didn’t say she was a smart little pup, only a feisty one.

Pomeranians are supposed to be good watchdogs. Ginger wasn’t. Not shy in the least, she seemed to revel in attention. When friends and neighbors came by, she’d first bark (well, it was more of a tiny “yipping” sound), then run up to them and eagerly take in some free petting.

The kitchen was her favoritest place in the world. Whenever someone entered the kitchen, she’d dash right over. She was always able to eat and keep her girlish figure. I think her belly was a black hole that just sucked down food. That, or she was taking really large poops in the backyard and hiding them from us.

Ginger wasn’t just the family pet though. Sometimes, after a rough day, I’d sit on the porch and Ginger would lie down next to me. There, she’d provide me with some pet therapy. She especially loved it when you scratched behind her ears.

On particularly bad days, I’d regale her of my woes. She was a great listener: wagging her tail or growling at all the right moments. Wait, did I just admit to talking to my dog? Um, forget I wrote that.

So when my Mom called me up during my freshman year of college, I was nowhere near prepared to hear it.

“I’m sorry. We had to put Ginger to sleep.”

Ginger lived about 14 human-years, or 98 dog-years. Hopefully many of them were good years. Towards the end, her age was very apparent. Her sight and hearing began to fade, as she’d walk into walls (but not in a funny way) and not hear her name being called.

There were even a few agonizing moments where she’d tumble down the stairs. In her younger years, she’d eagerly leap up and down the stairs to follow us around. Later, the stairs required baby barricades to protect her. (Fortunately, she was never hurt seriously from the falls.)

Then various sicknesses ravaged her tiny body. We gave her all manner of doggie medicines and vitamins. But there was only so much we could do to a 98-dog-year-old.

When The Day came, my family fed Ginger a delicious meal, pet and played with her all morning long, then scooped her up and drove to the vet. Pet owners will tell you that their pets always know when they were being taken to the vet. No one has any idea how; they just know.

On the car ride there, Ginger didn’t resist at all. But she did look up at my Mom, who was cradling her in her arms, and tears formed in her eyes. As if she knew, yet accepted it. My Mom cried when she told me this.

There’s still a photo of Ginger hanging in the house. Sometimes, when I’m there at night, I swear I can feel her scampering beneath my feet. I always look down, hoping I’d see her, yipping at me or running in circles chasing her tail.

. . .

Did you have a childhood pet?

Bookworm and Bookkid

Mike Lee — Sun, 19 Aug 2007 20:34:41 +0000

I’m sitting in a Barnes & Noble right now. As usual. Next to me are a father and son, sitting at a table and reading quietly.

The boy looks young; maybe first or second grade? The father looks pretty young too; maybe only a few years older than me.

Then the thought struck me: I totally want to be a father who brings his kid to Barnes & Noble too.

I was a voracious reader when I was a kid. A total bookworm. I’d borrow the maximum number of books I could at each library visit, then read them all in a few days.

If books were beers, I would’ve been a raging alcoholic, vomiting and stumbling into walls everywhere, in a beer-stained wife-beater.

But as luck would have it, consuming books don’t make you drunk. (Except drunk with knowledge! Ha ha! If you’re a librarian, yes, you may use that line in your brochures.)

While in college, I stopped reading for pleasure. Instead, I read for my classes, which wasn’t nearly as fun. But you know how it is. In college, if you were reading, you were reading textbooks.

Unfortunately, I didn’t return to reading for pleasure after college. I jumped into the working world and began reading a different kind of textbook: technical books for web design and development.

It wasn’t until I started working abroad and having twelve-hour plane rides that I picked up reading for pleasure again. And what a pleasure it was!

Like an addict returning to his drug, I was hooked again. Hi, my name is Mike and I’m a bookaholic. (Ha! Another great line for librarians. You’re welcome.)

So it’s natural that I’d want to pass this addiction onto my kids. Get them infected like me. Turn them into bookkids. Open the world of possibilities and imagination through the prose of enrapturing stories.

(Hey librarians, if you want to hire me to write you some slogans, I’m available anytime. For a nominal fee, of course.)

Spending an afternoon in a bookstore with my kids sounds like a nice and wholesome activity too. It’s relatively cheap and feeds their brains with lots of yummy knowledge and creativity. Munch munch munch.

There are so many subjects for them to absorb too. Maybe they like mysteries. Or science-fiction. Or relationship dramas. There are worlds in here, just waiting to be explored.

Childhood is a time for exploration too, isn’t it? It’s a time when a child should be discovering the world and finding out what naturally appeals to him or her. While books aren’t the only way, they’re certainly a great one.

They’re also great for creativity. Getting absorbed into an enchanting story opens up a vast universe that exists only in the readers’ minds. The exercise of creating those universes inevitably strengthens one’s mental muscles.

Plus, spending time in a bookstore with your kids is a nice way to bond. It’s good old-fashioned quality time.

Which makes this a good pastime suggestion for parents, yea? Like I was telling the librarians, if you need any more tips, yup, I’m available for hire! Wink wink.

. . .

Do you like to read?

The Transformers

Mike Lee — Sun, 22 Jul 2007 20:34:30 +0000

“The Transformers, more than meets the eye.
Autobots wage their battle to destroy the evil forces of the Decepticons.
The Transformers, robots in disguise.
The Transformers, more than meets the eye.
The Transformers!”
- Transformers Cartoon Theme Song

I had my own universe once. A universe where all of my toys existed together and battled one another. Autobots and G.I. Joe troops defended against Decepticons, Cobra, Battle Beasts, M.U.S.C.L.E.s, and Darth Vader & the Empire’s troops.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a lot of Japanese toys; otherwise I would’ve mixed Robotech and Gundam in there too. I did have Voltron though. Go Voltron!

(Warning: High Geek Content Ahead.)

(As if you didn’t already guess that.)

Amongst all the toys, the Transformers were my favorite. They are totally awesome. I can’t stop thinking about the Transformers. These guys are cool; and by cool, I mean totally sweet.

In my universe, the Transformers were the most powerful beings. G.I. Joe and Star Wars troops both used them as vehicles and as Weapons of Mass Destruction. Battle Beasts and M.U.S.C.L.E.s sort of were auxiliary beings, useful for when I wanted to add extra complexity to a battle. I had Gobots too, but just considered them wimpier Transformers.

I created elaborate storylines in my universe. My stories were limited by the toys I had, though in my mind, I had more than enough to create some great stories. Some were tiny incidents, others were epic battles. As in real life, the war between good and evil can ebb and tide. Sometimes the villains would win, sometimes the heroes would win. And if a toy was accidentally broken or lost, it was presumed to have died in battle.

(This story will bore anyone who’s not a Transformers fan. So if you’re not one of us, that means you have a life. Congratulations. That also means you can skip today’s ramble and tune back in next week.)

In one of the more epic storylines, Bumblebee and Gears discover the remains of some mysterious robots while on a scouting mission. They are partly buried in the ground. Unbeknownst to them, Shrapnel and Kickback followed them in their insect forms. Being more powerful, they attack and capture the Autobot scouting party easily.

They call Megatron, who sends Shockwave, Soundwave, Dirge and Blitzwing to secure the site and excavate the robots. Shockwave senses great power in these robots, though he can’t identify their origins. All he knows is they aren’t from Cybertron.

Nearby, Perceptor and the Protectobots are working with G.I. Joe scientists on new energy sources. Suddenly, Perceptor receives a weak distress call from Bumblebee. It ends before he can get a fix on his location. They immediately begin retracing Bumblebee and Gears’ scouting path.

Meanwhile, in Deception headquarters, the Predacons are torturing Grimlock, Slag, and Swoop for information. The Dinobots were captured in a previous battle. For kicks, Megatron throws Grimlock into an arena and has Predaking duel with him. In his weakened state, Grimlock is beaten badly.

Over at the Autobot headquarters, Optimus Prime is busy planning a rescue mission for the Dinobots. He asks Silverbolt and Scattershot to lead their troops (the Aerialbots and Technobots, respectively) in scouting missions over the Decepticon’s last known coordinates.

Then a message from Perceptor changes their plans. Since they knew where Bumblebee and Gears have been, finding them is more likely than finding the Dinobots. So Optimus makes a tough call to temporarily delay the Dinobot rescue mission and rescue Bumblebee and Gears. The Aerialbots and Technobots immediately fly out.

Hot Rod disagrees with this decision vehemently. Grimlock saved him in a previous battle, so he’s hot to find them. Optimus tells him to calm down and tries to reassure him that they will continue their rescue mission as soon as they get Bumblebee and Gears. Hot Rod angrily storms away.

Shockwave has been able to unearth three of the five mysterious robots. They are robot lions: blue, yellow, and green. As they begin to dig out a forth robot, Perceptor and the Protectobots arrive. The Autobots and Decepticons do battle, both sides taking measures not to damage the mysterious lions.

The robot lions are, of course, the lions of Voltron. Making up universes is fun!

The Autobots are at a disadvantage because Perceptor isn’t a warrior. So the Protectobots merge into Defensor, which tips the battle in their favor. Shockwave, being the wily evil mastermind that he is, orders the Decepticons to focus their attack on Perceptor. Though they resist at first, they ultimately obey. Defensor shifts his strategy to protect Perceptor. The Decepticons take this opportunity to grab the three robot lions and flee.

Defensor separates. While First Aid and Groove attend to Perceptor, the others go searching for Bumblebee and Gears. They find them unconscious and tied up in a cave, but otherwise okay.

While fleeing across the sky, the Decepticons spot the Aerialbots and Technobots off in a distance. A long-range air battle ensues. Blitzwing accidentally drop the green lion into the forest. They escape with the other two, however.

The Technobots dive into the forest to try to find the green lion. They come across a woodland kingdom occupied by Battle Beasts. The Battle Beast lion commander recognizes the robot lion, but doesn’t remember from where. Although his army is basically on the side of good, they are not familiar with the Autobots and guard their hidden kingdom fiercely. So they hide the green lion and begin firing on the Technobots.

Unaccustomed to guerilla warfare, the Technobots are repelled. They realize they could raze the forest and destroy these beings to find the green lion, but don’t want to take life unnecessarily. Scattershot decides they’ll return later and try to negotiate with these beings.

As they leave, the Protectobots tell them that they’re on their way back home with Perceptor, Bumblebee, and Gears. The new orders for the Aerialbots and Technobots are to protect the remaining two lions and excavate them. For Nosecone, who’s a drill vehicle, this is easy work.

Then my Mom calls me and my brother down for dinner, leading to an intermission.

“Let’s all go to the lobby, let’s all go to the lobby, let’s all go to the lobby, and buy ourselves a snack!”

Back at Decepticon headquarters, Soundwave begins repairing the blue and yellow robot lions. Shockwave asks for Megatron’s permission to make an Earth-to-Cybertron network connection so he can tap into their homeworld’s datacenters and research the robot lions’ origins.

This is a risky move; such a signal can be picked up by the Autobots and give away their location. Megatron denies the request and tells Shockwave that they’ll just interrogate the lions “the Decepticon Way” once they’re activated. He’s furious that Blitzwing dropped a lion and Shockwave left two other lions; he threatens to “interrogate” them both too.

Just as Megatron orders a large invasion force to get the other lions, Starscream suggests that they send Laserbeak and the Insecticons instead. They can spy and follow the Autobots back to their base. An outright battle would lead to too many casualties right now, on both sides. With this tactic, they’d be able to discover the Autobot base.

The Autobots also have better mechanics and would be able to repair the lions faster than they can too. This plan would let the Autobots do most of the work, Starscream explains.

Megatron surprisingly applauds Starscream for his uncanny idea. After he leaves, Starscream goes over to Shockwave and tells him that he would have let Shockwave contact Cybertron if he was in charge. Shockwave silently nods.

Meanwhile, in Autobot headquarters, First Aid is furiously repairing Perceptor, Bumblebee, and Gears. Optimus asks the Technobots to combine into Computron and investigate the robot lions before bringing them back to base. While he’s curious about the lions, Optimus wants to ensure that they’re not a Decepticon trap.

Optimus leads a team of Autobots, made up of Sideswipe, Smokescreen and Brawn, over to the lions. He appoints Rodimus Prime (who, in my universe, coexists with Optimus Prime and Hot Rod, since I have all those toys) in charge of the base while he’s gone. He also asks the Protectobots to join them once First Aid is done with his repairs.

Back at the two remaining lions, Laserbeak flies near the Autobots and drops off the Insecticons. He’s unable to fly closer because the Autobots have developed radars able to detect Laserbeak. They aren’t sophisticated enough to detect the Insecticons, however. Only Perceptor can do that, and now he’s out of commission.

The Insecticons hop over and watch as Optimus arrives with more Autobots. After a conversation with Computron, Optimus and his team take off into the woods. Kickback decides to follow them while Shrapnel watches the excavation.

Optimus heads over to the woodland kingdom. He transforms and approaches the gates with his palms upwards, showing he’s not armed. The Battle Beast lion commander cautiously comes out. The two begin to talk. Though it’s rough at first, they come to an understanding and realize they’re both on the side of good.

The Battle Beast lion commander doesn’t agree to give up the green lion, however. He’s been able to remember what the lions are. They could be very dangerous if they’re in the hands of more robots, he believes.

The commander tells Optimus that once he’s able to activate the black lion, then he’ll consider releasing the green lion. Optimus agrees and the Autobots leave the kingdom. Kickback is sitting on Smokescreen’s rear fender and has heard everything.

Meanwhile, the Autobots have unearthed the black and red lions. Since they have no way of connecting to Cybertron’s network, like the Decepticons can, Computron tries to discern the origin of the lions from what he’s able to see. While he does this, the Aerialbots cautiously patrol the skies for the Decepticons.

Optimus silently wonders why no Decepticons have attacked. He begins to realize they’re in a trap. Without the other Autobots (or the clandestine Insecticons) listening, Optimus radios First Aid to repair Perceptor first. Shrapnel and Kickback are hiding on Computron, trying to eavesdrop on his findings.

Back at Autobot headquarters, Hot Rod gets anxious about finding the Dinobots. He coerces Blurr into leaving the base on their own scouting mission. During a previous encounter, he remembers spotting seaweed on some of the Decepticons and smelling seawater. From this, he believes they are hiding underwater somewhere.

Camshaft sees them go and warns he’ll alert Rodimus. Hot Rod asks for at least two hours and Camshaft agrees. This leaves the base with a minimal defense force, which includes a bunch of wimpy Gobot Guardians.

No offense to any Gobot fans out there.

At Decepticon headquarters, they’re having no luck repairing the lions. Soundwave isn’t a medic and his tinkering seems to hurt more than it helps. Megatron slaps Soundwave and tells him not to mess up like that again. After he walks away, Starscream predictably drops by and tells Soundwave that he would never have slapped him.

Megatron returns to the arena to watch Predaking duel Slag. The other Decepticons are all watching too. Starscream convinces Shockwave to make the Earth-to-Cybetron network connection, so they can help their colleague Soundwave before Megatron goes on another rampage. Shockwave agrees.

The Earth-to-Cybertron signal is caught at Autobot base. Unfortunately, the remaining Autobots are gathered around First Aid just as he’s reviving Perceptor. They miss the signal.

By a twist of luck, Hot Rod and Blurr do catch the signal. It is coming from the ocean, confirming Hot Rod’s suspicions. And it happens to be close to their current location. Blurr wants to alert the rest of the Autobots, but Hot Rod blazes off towards the Decepticons, eager to find the Dinobots.

Then my Mom tells me and my brother to get ready for bed because it’s a school night. We reluctantly put away our toys and promise to continue the saga tomorrow.

(But for you, dear reader, if you want to read more, let me know. I’m guessing stories like this bore most people, so I probably won’t continue the story. Unless there’s a lot of demand, perhaps. And if there is, hey Mr. Bay, want me to pen Transformers II?)

. . .

Did you every have epic battles with your Transformers?

Santa Claus

Instigator

Mike Lee — Sun, 15 Jul 2007 20:34:20 +0000

“You’re such an instigator,” my Dad told me.

“Instigator?” I wondered. “What does that word mean?” I had no idea. I was in pre-SAT grade school at the time. So I looked it up in a dictionary.

1. To cause by incitement; foment: to instigate a quarrel.

2. To urge, provoke, or incite to some action or course: to instigate the people to revolt.

To cause incitement, huh? To urge, provoke, or incite to some action. Who, lil ole’ me? And is being an instigator that bad of a thing?

I don’t remember the circumstances or my actions back then; I just remember the words. But as I sit here and try to stir up murky memories, I can think of, er, a few potentially supportive incidents, I suppose.

Like that time my friends and I were in a brewery. The waitress lingered on a friend’s order a little more than the rest of us. So I leaned over and said, “Dude, she likes you man!”

“What? Nooo.”

“Dude, she’s SO into you! You’re so money and you don’t even know it!”

“No way, man. She’s just being nice to everyone.”

“She was totally into you!” another friend jumped in. “Didn’t you see the way she was looking at you?”

“You should totally go for it!” said another.

“No way. You guys are seeing things.”

“Dude, you could totally get her number right now. Totally.”

And what did he do? He asked for her number. And got it!

Or that time my friends and I were at a sushi restaurant. A friend was playing with his wasabi. So I leaned over and said, “Dare you to eat a spoonful of that.”

“What? Nooo.”

“I’ll give you five bucks.”

“Me too,” chimed in another friend.

“Oooo, I’ll put in five bucks too,” added a third friend.

“You got my five too,” piled on a fourth friend.

“That’s twenty bucks man, just to eat a little spoonful of wasabi. Twenty big ones.”

And what did he do? He ate the spoonful of wasabi. Then had to put his head down while his tongue burned and throat churned.

Or that time my friends and I were in Las Vegas at the roulette tables. We were about to leave to catch our plane, though one friend still had a wad of five hundred bucks in his hands. So I leaned over and said, “C’mon, just play thirds and you could walk away with two hundred and fifty extra dollars.”

“What? Nooo.”

“Two hundred and fifty extra dollars. In your hands. Right now. Think about it.”

He silently eyed the table.

“I know you’re itching to play. You’ve been holding that money out for the last five minutes now. It’s now or never; our plane’s about to leave.”

And what did he do? He put the money down on second and third 12s. The roulette ball spun. And landed. On the first 12. And he lost five hundred dollars.

Oops. So okay, being an instigator isn’t always a good thing. It can get you a girl’s phone number. It can give you a burning tongue. Or it can lose you five hundred bucks.

But hey, my Dad’s pretty smart. He called it.

. . .

Are you an instigator, or been a victim of one?