Opening the Vault

I have been blogging for less than a year.  However, I started writing a "Personal History" in 1995 and I began keeping a journal in 1978.  The former has over 100,000 words and the latter?  I don't know.  Probably ten times that much.  It will never be said of me "I wish he would have written more," well, at least not from anyone with access to my volumes and volumes of verbiage.

I think blogging is most enjoyable when covering current events, or the pun of the day, but I think some of you readers might enjoy a little "blast to the past" every once in a while, if for no other reason than to share a story or two that provides a glimpse into who I am.  (This is Share Time, after all.)  Maybe not, but if you don't like my stories, you don't have to read them.  There will not be a quiz!

Here is a little vignette from 1980:

Chivalry is not dead, just shy

One of my favorite family vacation spots was called Aspen Grove, a scenic family-oriented camp in the Rocky Mountains just above the Sundance ski resort.  (It is owned and operated by the BYU Alumni Association.)

When we went in the summer of 1980, my sisters and I were all in the “Teens” group and our counselor Rodney fit every preconceived stereotype we harbored for Utah guys. He was both blonde and spunky, and wore enormous bell-bottom jeans.

One girl in our group named Lynn was also from L.A. She was kind of cute and I think she liked me. Late one night, several of us “teens” were making our way towards the cabin area of camp. It was cold and Lynn wasn’t wearing a jacket. As we were trudging up the steep path, she got right behind me and asked if she could warm her hands in my coat pockets. I should have just let her wear my jacket but instead I just lamely said, “O.K.” and she slid her hands in. It was very awkward. I had never held hands with a girl before and although we weren’t holding hands now, it was about as close to doing so as possible. My fists just rested awkwardly on the backs of her hands until mercifully we reached her cabin. I think she was disappointed; I probably should have just held her hands but I was afraid that then she’d be able to coerce me into an unwanted pen-pal relationship at the very least.