markie d: : President Johnson - Naked Boys and Snapping Turtles!

Saturday, September 14, 2013

President Johnson - Naked Boys and Snapping Turtles!

"Snapping turtles! Snapping turtles..." President Johnson said laughing slightly on his death bed trailing off from this life to the next as the receiver slipped from his hand. The senior Secret Service agent on the other end laughed along knowing this was the President's way of saying goodbye. "Snapping turtles"he chuckled. How could he forget? He remembered the incident so vividly and smiled knowing how the story of those 'snapping turtles' that often brought a chuckle and a modicum of solace to a rather tumultuous presidency which had been rocked by the riotous disapproval to the Viet Nam War.

President Johnston's last few minutes on this earth didn't necessarily end that way... but it could have. As "Rosebud" was to Citizen Cain, "snapping turtles" was to Lyndon Baines Johnson.

No matter how far fetched this next story sounds, WHAT I'M ABOUT TO TELL YOU, IS THE ABSOLUTE TRUTH (plus or minus a 2% margin allowed for literary license)

I'm in seventh grade in Sister's Edith Mary's class and over the summer we took one of our wild adventures across country to visit my dad's Swedish relatives in Michigan. Only this time, my mom thought she would spare the girls the arduous journey by sending them ahead on an adventure of their own. So my 14-year-old brother, Ulrich, escorted my 12-year-old and my 7 year-old sisters on a once in a life-time train ride across this fruited plain.

My mom wasn't taking the trip this year which meant that in our brand new, "top of the line" 1967 Ford Country Sedan station-wagon that had a 390 motor, electric windows, a two way tailgate (which was very cool) and even had FM stereo radio - we would have only 6 bodies for a change.

Only SIX BODIES!

That meant only two people would be in front, two would be in the second set of seats and 2 got to stretch out comfortably in back on a fluffy stack of sleeping bags that put The Princess and the Pea to shame! What made this trip so groovy, and so awesome, was the fact that there was no Ulrich beating me up every mile of the 3000 mile journey back East. And Secondly, because I wasn't shoved in someone's armpit or crammed in a corner, stuck between a metal ice chest and pressed up against a cold window at night and a hot window by day. We had never traveled across country this way before - it was heavenly (I always tried to bring my guardian angel along and this time there was room for him).

None of that changed the fact that my dad still had a very frugal operating system. Without mom and the girls, this meant that he could cut back on luxuries like meals and potty stops. Dad figured he could change drivers with a couple of the older teenage boys, we could pee in old Folgers cans and keep right on going. My dad reasoned that with the money he spent on the train, he would make it up in food cost by starving us to death until we got to Michigan, where we would gorge ourselves at a different aunt and uncle's houses - every night of the week - eating like Viking Warriors returning from a pillaging conquest.

On the seat next to him was a box of Triscuits and a block of Jack cheese. My dad would pull out his well used fishing knife, cut off thin squares of cheese that we would sandwich between those baked wheat cracker-like-things. This was about all the food he planned for for our entire journey...as we chocked down cheese that had turned a yellowish-brown as it hardened more and more - each successive day. By the time we had arrived in Michigan it was like trying to tear off a piece of an ice hockey puck with your teeth, I wonder if this is what the Israelites felt like having to eat manna for 40 years. I don't know who was luckier - us or them?

Once my dad started somewhere, he never liked to stop... that's why he was so upset with the Highway Patrol Officer who demanded that he GO BACK to SALTON SEA and PICK ME UP- where they had left me behind (BLOG POST 5/13/2013).

Anyway, by the time we got rolling through the top of Texas on the I-40 something in the car started smelling pretty skanky. Since this was a "guys-only" trip, no one knew it if the rank smell was the rotting cheese my dad kept in the box of Triscuits, if it was Dooh-Dooh Pants "Cutting the Cheese" or if was simply the grody smell of ripe teenage armpits! Didn't matter - might have been a combination, never-the-less, it was gross. "How bad was it?" you ask! Bad enough for my dad to pull our station-wagon over, so the boys and I could skinny-dip in some murky Texas river. There we were, far away from everywhere, parked under the shade of an overpass trying to escape the awful heat of that Texas sun; 5 naked, blonde-haired boys frolicking in that mucky shallow brown river.

Being in our birthday suits we were a bit nervous at first when we heard the caravan of cars overhead, but really began to freak out when they circled off and a line of black limos pulled up behind my dad (who, had been sitting in the station wagon). The fact that my bothers were hippies made it seem like the police never really liked us very much, and therefore, by default, felt that we were in some-kind of big trouble.

Worst was...these armed "Men in Black" cautiously approached our direction, followed by this tall fella in a dark suit. We could see from where we were splashing around that my dad nearly had a seizure. This only served to confirm our suspicions and began to think that this just might be one of those infamous "two-lane-highway, in-the-middle-of-nowhere, alien-abductions."

That distinguished looking fella with gray hair (the one who seemed to be in charge) walked down to the edge of that murky water and screamed a warning to us with the sound of terror in his voice and a sense of urgency.

"Hey, you guys...there. Be careful of your worms. Don't you know, this river is full of snapping turtles!" he shouted with resolute hands firmly planted on his hips then turned and laughed all the way back to his presidential motorcade with this small army, who also were having a good chuckle at our expense. As a good democrat, my dad stood and saluted as the boys cupped their hands over their taliwakers, charged out of the dangerous waters and ran bare-bunned across that dirt field to the car where dad sat laughing.

My escape wasn't so quick! My feet were stuck in the molasses-type-mud and had a much more difficult time breaking the suction of that mud than did the older boys. With all those turtles and only one worm left in that 'O brown stream, I panicked... grabbed my boy parts and sluggishly my way back through the mucky bottomed-bog.

When dad told us who it was...Chewbacca nearly had a conniption fit. As a pacifist Anti-War hippy, he had sent his draft card back to the President and believed this to be another conspiracy and a plot of the President to get back at a couple those "draft-dodging hippies from Venice."

If there were no turtles and just a practical joke - Good one President Johnson. Good One!

TRUE STORY!

If it wasn't a joke - and indeed a valid waring, it was funny just the same. Imagine what might have happened if we had not headed his advice...HA! I guess we could have been "The Venice Choir Boys" along the line of The Vienna Choir Boys (if you catch my meaning in that).

Maybe this is where that expression "Snap!" comes from. It's really just short for snapping turtles.

"Rosebud" "Snapping Turtles" "Dude"

Next: My Biggest Nightmare!

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No Other Family Like Ours - seriously

WHAT OTHER FAMILY IN THE WORLD let all of the monkeys out of the Zoo, been pranked by the sitting President of the United States in a rouge encounter, chased in cities, chased out of cities and chased down by the cops. Who in their right mind voluntarily electrocute themselves just for fun and dared to electrify the nuns around the corner—who neither volunteered nor had fun? WHAT OTHER FAMILY has had more broken bones, pulled more pranks, have had a plethora of runaway rattlesnakes and other large reptiles terrorize their neighborhood. WHAT OTHER FAMILY grew Mexican Tomato plants that never grew tomatoes and had leaky boats that refuse to float or Escaped death more times? Who had cars on blocks, trucks as trash barges and flowerbeds sprouting rusted bikes, mislaid sparkplugs and abandoned carburetors instead of flowers? Meet the DAHLINS

And to think we survived and came out normal—well, mostly.

The Truimph of Overcoming

I use the word dysfunction with deliberate intention and with great respect in serving the main point of this blog. In the wild ramblings of a kid I ruminate on the idea that my family was not just dysfunctional but was the “most dysfunctional family” on the planet—that’s the set up.

As I look to the other “normal” plain-wrap families next door and across the street that had tidy yards and flowerbeds believing that the grass is greener on the other side (well the grass was greener), it shouldn’t shock anyone to realize that there is dysfunction in all of us—often times masked by tidy lawns and clean exteriors. Along with joy, success and adventure, life is filled with disappointment, failure, pain, and betrayal from those who have let us down. This is what it means to be human. I admit that I faced some disappointment in trying to fit in and longed for acceptance as the youngest boy of our wolf pack, but in large part I can honestly say that I had more fun and more adventure, in what I would call a happy childhood—despite the numerous broken bones. Yet, I would be remiss if I did not brag a bit and say, “Yeah, but...Look at all the great stories.”

Though, I dig deep into the mind and explore the full range of emotions of this young kid who felt detached, wondered about his existence, about his place in the family and his connection to the universe—He came out okay.

The older Markie D loves his brothers and sisters and holds no grudges.

Markie D has found this elusive connection to the universe and is well adjusted—and yes, still a little bit crazy. He has been married for 34 years to an amazing artist, Kerry, and has four incredibly gifted and talented adult children.

Oh, BTW… He mows his lawn, parks a car in the garage and has flowers in the flowerbeds and desires boats that float and less adventure in every outing and more "plain-wrap."

May you find your connection to the universe that brings healing, wholeness, forgiveness and a sense of hope as you look to your future.

Not too long ago on a pale blue dot, third from the sun, people and events converged in the space/time continuum that would forever change the course of history. The setting is a huge Victorian home that slightly leaned on its crumbling foundation, groaning under the weight of unruly kids and hoards of junk. In the era of Ozzie and Harriet and Father’s Knows Best, I was born into a family dysfunction of epic proportions. This decrepit masterpiece in Venice would rival the Addams Family’s house, and the cast of characters would prove to be more incredible and wacky than The Munsters. The big problem was that I was the seventh born, the youngest boy and the runt of the litter.

To have 10 in a family in our catholic neighborhood was underachieving. To compete with the larger families, my mom gladly took in strays. The official-nonofficial count was more in the neighborhood of 14 ―mostly boys and all older than me.

All sibling rivalry and mischief flowed downhill and ended up on my platter, whether I had any say in the matter or not. For fun, we held on to the live wires that were left hanging out of a wall from a unfinished remodel. We were the only family I knew who voluntarily electrocuted themselves with 110 volt household current, and are the only family in the history of the world to single-handedly let all of the monkeys out of the LA zoo. We got chased out of cities; pursued by the Highway Patrol; and sought after by the entire Needles California Police force. Wherever we went, we made a spectacular splash which usually ended up on the front page of the local newspaper.

After being buried in pits, caged, hunted, left behind and electrocuted, I somehow managed to survive my childhood but felt numb, disconnected and alone although part of a big family. In college while searching for acceptance and connection, I experienced an event that would alter the course of my life. I graduated from Loyola Marymount University with a degree in Communications. I coached water polo and swimming at Saint Monica’s my High School Alma Mater and enjoyed major success in investment real estate. After a financial crisis, I committed myself to serving in ministry, working with Youth and Family, as an associate pastor of a large church in Southern California. I graduated with a Masters at the top of my class from Azusa Pacific Graduate School of Theology and was ordained a licensed Pastor.

I am married to an avid artist and have four children: three boys and a girl who takes after her mother’s creativity.

Currently, I am a senior Pastor of a church in Roseville, CA, and adjunct Professor of Biblical Studies at a Bible college, and live in Sacramento with my wife and daughter.