Blog Post #49 (Vol. 3, No. 3)

Good day, fellow traveler, and welcome to the forty-ninth posting of the Blog.  Yesterday, you saw the debut of the new and improved version of the Blog.  With Oddley as my regular feature, I can get you to come back day after day.  As with yesterday, I have only Oddley to give.  Give me some time to come up with an article.

And now, part two of Oddley's new debut story...

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The Life of Oddley
Today's Installment: "A Little Girl Walks Into My Life", Part 1

Yesterday, we met Oddley once more and read how he was approached by fellow apartment dweller Mr. Sawyer to take over care of his ten-year-old daughter Joanie.  Oddley, naturally, was a little confused why he, a confirmed hard-working bachelor, would be asked to be a parent.  So, he decided to talk to his two best friends.  As we ended yesterday, he was talking to new best friend, Gilda...

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"I can see your problem." said Gilda.

"Really?  The whole thing?  The fact that the very idea of being responsible for a child scares me?" I asked her.

"Not that much, but just the basics." she replied quickly.

"So I guess you can see my problem.  I'm in no shape to parent a child." I said to both Gilda and myself.

"Good morning, fellow slaves." said the voice of a familiar person as he entered the backroom.

It was my best friend Ogden Hamilton.  The two of us have been friends since we were both three years old.  His appearance during this time was a collection of various styles.  He had his blonde hair cut into a mod bowl.  His shirt was your average t-shirt.  His pants were faded blue all the way.  It was just one of the many versions of Ogden I would see.

"Good morning, Ogden.  Are we really slaves?" I said to him as he walks to me and Gilda.

"Is Mr. Randall still our boss?" he asked us.

"Last time I checked." I told him.

"Then yes, we're slaves." he replied back.

"I thought slavery was against the law." said Gilda, hoping to trip up Ogden.

"Not the kind of slavery Mr. Randall has us doing." he quipped back to her.

"You can't get him, Gilda.  He's like a nuncluck." I said to her.

You probably wondering what "nuncluck" means.  You see, nuncluck is a word I invented.  It means a person of little or no mind.  It also means someone who too sure of themselves and think that they are the center of attention.  I invented it after being told that the normal terms for these kinds of people were in bad taste.  Nuncluck is a term that few knows and so they take it without offense.

"Well, I hope you don't have a problem like Oddley has." Gilda said to Ogden.

"What kind of problem does my best friend have?" he asked me upon hearing that.

"The kind of a neighbor leaving his daughter with an underqualified stranger.  That kind of problem." I said.

"I'm guess that you're this underqualified stranger." he said.

"Correct, as rarely you are." I said to him.

"So, who is the neighbor with a daughter?" he then asked me.

"Mr. Sawyer, with his ten-year-old Joanie." I said.

"Isn't she that kid you babysit?" queried Ogden.

"Yes, she is." I replied.

"Then why are you nervous?" he asked out of ignorance.

"Because those times, I knew I would be handing her back to her father at the end of my task.  He's asking me to babysit her for at a few years." I said.

"I think I'm beginning to see your point.  This is the world's longest babysitting job you're being asked to do." said Ogden.

"Once again, you have a way with words.  You've summed up my problem wonderfully." I said.

"Well, I guess this will be a new experience for you." said Gilda.

"That it will." I said to her.

"Good morning, employees." said the voice of Mr. Randall as he walked into the backroom.

As I said before, picture Mel Cooley and you'll get a picture of my boss.

"Good morning, Mr. Randall." I said to him.

"Hello, Oddley.  I see you're here, along with Tucker and Hamilton." he said, smirking a little as he said it.

I'm the only one he calls by his first name.  That's because several months ago, we hired another Mitchell, an unrelated fellow, as a stock boy.  To remember us easily, Mr. Randall started referring to me by first name.  It seems to work, he's never forgotten that I'm Oddley Mitchell.

"So, Mr. Randall, what jobs do you have for me?" I asked him.

"Check the clipboard.  You're being assigned to the express lane checkout for the time being.  I hope to increase checkout time and also lessen the burden on the two other cashiers." he rattled off to me.

For your information, Ogden and Gilda are the other two cashiers in the store.  The rest of us employees work our assigned areas.  Until that point, I had been working as a chief assistant stock boy.

"Thank you, Mr. Randall, for the promotion." I said.

"It's not a promotion.  It's only temporary." he said, then he turned and left.

"Anyway, it'll be nice to have you with us for the time being." said Ogden.

"Me, too." said Gilda.

"Nice to know I'm welcomed." I said.

I took my new position as express lane cashier quickly.  How could it be hard?  I only had to count to ten and check each price carefully.  Let me tell you about my first customer.  He came in and put down a grand total of eleven items.  I couldn't believe it.

"Sir, you have 11 items here." I told him.

"Just check them through." replied the man.

"You have 11 items.  You need to go through the other lanes." I told him.

"But I'm in a hurry.  Just check them through, please." said the man.

This went on for five minutes.  Finally, I solved it by having the man take one item out, check the other ten, and then have him come back through with the one item he took out.  My solution to the ten items or less theory when confronted with more than ten.

I was happy to go home at the end of the day.  As I took the elevator to my floor, I was tired and ready to crash for the night.  I managed my way to my apartment, the little hole in the wall I call home.  I walked inside.  I closed the door.  I stopped for a moment and sighed a big sigh.

A minute later, as I was going through my mind on what was for dinner, I heard it.  A knock on the door.  Curious, I went over to the door and opened it.  As I looked out, I saw her.  I saw the hair, tied neatly into a ponytail with a nice, long kerchief.  I saw the cute face, the cute dress, and the cute suitcase.  I knew then that this is Joanie, my new daughter.

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As you can see, Oddley is now a father, or is he?  Is this the moment Oddley has been dreading?  The moment that the mantel of fatherhood would be forced on him without objection?  The only way to find out is by coming back tomorrow and see for yourself.  That's tomorrow here on the Blog.

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The second installment of Oddley's new debut story is going well, from my point of view.  How is it from yours?  Comment below and tell me.  Tomorrow, we'll deliver the next installment of this week's story with gusto, whatever that is.

Yours truly, John Maxwell

Blog Post #48 (Vol. 3, No. 2)

Good day, fellow travelers, and welcome to the forty-eighth posting of the Blog.  Yes, I've taken to counting the number of postings.  That way, I'll always have a title for them when they go up.  As it says on the letterhead above, this is a new and improved version of the Blog, with a wide of topics to choose from each day.  You know what you'll see.

Today, we start off the new and improved Blog with the first new episode of "The Life of Oddley" in months.  However, the story has changed and it begins anew with a new set-up.  It's still set in the 1960s and features Oddley in his usual job.  However, many things are diffferent.  For more, I turn to today's posting below...

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The Life of Oddley
Today's Installment: "A Little Girl Walks Into My Life", Part 1

Good day, fellow traveler, and welcome to the new version of "The Life of Oddley".  As with last time, the format is of a serial nature, with now the storylines and plots more fitting to the tale at hand.  Also different is the story being told here.  You see, Oddley now has a new story he'd like to tell.  One that will surely be nice to look at.

Now, without further ado, is chapter one of the new "Life of Oddley"

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To beginning my story, I must say that I never expect the life I got outta this.  You see, I was born back in 1948.  When I was born, my mother overheard this nurse describing how I looked fresh from the womb.  When my mother heard one word, she felt that it was the proper name for a newborn baby and my father couldn't say otherwise.

Not that my father was any real influence on my life.  You see, when I was about two years old, some nut in the north part of divided Korea got the idea to invade the south part, starting a war over it.  My father, having been unable due to age to have joined the fight for freedom a few years earlier, decided it was time to go and go he did.

I can still remember the day he came back.  He came back to full military honors.  You see, while over in Korea, a bullet found the route from the barrel of a Chinese rifle to the middle of my father's heart.  In an instant, I was the child of a single parent and the son of a fallen soldier.  Not a bad way to enter the world but not a good one either.

For the next seventeen years of my life, I grew up.  I grew up without a father.  My life was a bit rougher than most with that piece of stuff tucked under my hat.  However, despite the words of others and the articles of the Ladies' Home Journal, I became a working man anyway.  My working life can be summed up in one word: food.  That's because I ended up working at a supermarket.

Not just any supermarket.  I ended up at one of the best around, Easy-Mart.  It was the latest and greatest of such stores.  The store I worked in had that modern touch with the old-fashioned people.   The oldest-fashioned was Mr. Randall, my boss.  In order to describe him, I say that he is like Mel Cooley, from that old show.  Balding, wearing classes, always looking down at the lower levels of the job.

All of this is set-up for the biggest change I'd ever gotten in twenty years of life.  Well, nineteen years and eight months of life.  That biggest change began in mid-January of 1968.  The exact date was January 17, 1968.  I'll never forget that day, and to think, it began normally, with me waking up.  I went through my morning routine.  I can still remember it bit by bit.  It all started with a knock at the door of my apartment as I was finishing my breakfast.

"I wonder who could that be?" I asked myself as I got up to answer the door.

The walk from the table to the door would be the last quiet moments of my life at that point.  From the second I reached the door, I knew not what was coming my way.  I remembered opening the door and seeing the figure of Mr. Sawyer, a man who lived on my floor.  His appearence is still fresh to me, his white t-shirt with his slightly stained brown work pants.  His hair, beginning to thin, and face, covered in worry over something.

"Hello, Oddley." he said to me.

"Come in, Mr. Sawyer." I said to him as he walked in.

"I guess you're wondering what I'm doing here at this hour of the morning." he said in that slightly cultured, yet slightly uncouth accent of his.

"Now, that you mention it, yes." I said as I closed the door behind me.

"Well, you know that I wouldn't speak to you this early if it wasn't important but believe me, it is." he said, trying his best to put a grin on his face.

"Calm down, Mr. Sawyer.  What is it you wish to speak about?" I asked, not knowing the answer to come.

"It's my daughter." he replied back with a pained gasp.

"Ah, the darling little Joanie." I said, remembering her name like I could remember my own.

"Well, I guess I should come right out and say it." he said, beginning to pace.

"Right." I told him.

"But maybe I should hold back a little." he said, quickening his pace.

"Whatever." I said.

"No, I should just say what I need to say." he said, now pacing like mad.

"Mr. Sawyer, just say it!" I said to him.

"Oddley, I'm leaving." he said.

"Leaving?  Leaving where?" I asked him almost knowing the answer.

"Here.  This building, Chicago, the country." he said.

"Why on earth for?" I asked.

"The Peace Corps." he said.

"You mean you joined it?" I said.

"You see, after I was canned from my last job, I've been sick over how to take care of Joanie.  She's a growing little girl, you know." he said.

"I know.  I've seen her." I said.

"Well, I've decided that I can't take care of her now." he said.

"So, with that in your mind, you joined the Peace Corps." I said, thinking ahead a little.

"Yes, and I decided that someone else should take care of Joanie for me until I'm ready to come back." he said, looking right at me.

"And who is that person?" I asked, hoping for another answer than the one he had.

"I've decided on you, Oddley." he said.

My mind turned inward for a moment as it reviewed the sum total of knowledge it had on parenting and the like.  When it came to the conclusion that such knowledge did not exist within my brain, it allowed me to respond to Mr. Sawyer's decision.

"You want me to take care of Joanie?  Why me?" I asked.

"Because you seem like the best candidate." he replied with near certainly.

"But I don't know if I am." I told him point blank.

"Then you'll find out, won't you?" he said before he made a quick and speedy exit.

After he left, I had a few moments to go over the fact at hand.  I remembered back on my childhood.  I remembered my own lack of a father and therefore, any guide to being one.  I even remembered the moment I saw the coffin they'd brought back from Korea with my father inside.  I then came to only one conclusion: I was no father and I hadn't any idea on how to raise a child.

After all, I was still one myself, for all intents and purposes.  I may have had a job and earned money.  I might could see where Mr. Sawyer could see me as a potential parent for Joanie.  However, the fact remained that I was in no shape to raise a child.  I knew that for sure.  After all that, I made my way to work, where I knew some help could be found.

I made my way to the Easy-Mart store where I worked.  I believe it was store number seven in the chain of twenty-four such stores spread across the areas of northern Illinois and southern Wisconsin.  As I walked into the backroom of mine, as per my usual entry into work, a million thoughts were racing through my merger yet sharp mind.

The backroom was this large area in the back of the store.  Inside it were the boxes containing the wares that would put on the shelves or into their designated bins.  The part of the backroom I was entering was occupied by a table and a clipboard.  On that clipboard were the jobs assigned to us by Mr. Randall.  Since my job was as a stock boy, it would tell me what aisles I'd be working today.

As I was gazing over the clipboard, I was unaware of the entry of Gilda.  Gilda Tucker, my newest friend.  I met her when she joined the store's ranks last Christmas.  Her appearence was growing on me.  She was
a young woman, with swept-up long reddish hair, with her face always carrying a look on very indifference about her job, framed by hoop earrings.

"Good morning, Oddley." she said to me.

"Same to you, my dear." I said to her, being a bit dismissive.

"What's wrong, Oddley?" she asked me.

"Oh, nothing.  I have things on my mind." I told her.

"What kind of things?" she asked in her usual mind, as if they was something on my mind, which, today, there was.

"Parental things." I said.

"Parental things?" she said, confused.

"Parental things, as in things of a parental nature.  How one conduct themselves as a parent to a young child growing up and going through their paces." I said without thinking.

"Oddley, will you please just say what's on your mind?" she asked nicely.

"Okay, I'll tell you.  This morning, one of my fellow apartment dwellers came to me and asked me if I would take care of his daughter while he goes off to Africa with the rest of the Peace Corps." I said to her.

"What's wrong with that?" she asked.

"For starters, all the knowledge I have is geared towards the raising of one person: me.  Two, I have no parental skills.  Shall I go on?" I said.

"He must have chosen you for some reason." she said.

"Well, I can't see it." I said.

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That concludes the first part of five.  The system here is there will be five parts to a story, told over a week.  That way, there is a new story each week.  This is only the start.  Next time, we meet the other co-worker that Oddley considers a best friend and meet the one man he calls boss.  That's all next time on "The Life of Oddley"

Good day, fellow traveler...

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As you can see, the newest version of the Blog is getting off to a good start.  Some days, it'll be only Oddley to greet your eyes.  However, I'll try my best to have some article go along with his stories.  Certainly the idea of Oddley raising a child is a nice foundation for a series.  I can only hope you'll be interested.  Until tomorrow, have a nice day.

Yours truly, John Maxwell.