One sign that I’m getting old, I’ve got a story for almost anything. Deli meat? Got you covered. Clueless man? Oh, my vault is full of those. Brushes with greatness? Have I ever told you about how I changed the channels for Hall of Fame catcher Gary Carter? Yep, I’ve got a story for almost anything.

So (future story of an awkward literary transition) earlier today, I was driving my 9-year-old son home from baseball practice. I thought practice had gone well, that’s why I was surprised to glance into the rear view mirror and see young Sam getting all misty eyed. Asking him what was wrong, Sam explained that earlier today he had lost his favorite jacket at school. He had looked all around. He had searched through “lost and found.” His jacket had gone missing. He suspected that another kid had taken it.

Digging in my bag of many stories, I told young Sam about Junior High gym class. Yes, there I was, young David taking the mandatory swim classes. After class, our gym teacher would have all of the 7^th Grade boys line up and then he would say (I apologize in advance to any of my junior high classmates who may read this and for the horrible memories this story may trigger), “Drop ’em!” That’s right, the gym teacher would make us all strip down and drop our wet swimsuits into a bucket, as he walked by. Yuck! Still the putrid stank of painful years, even in the dark shadows of my conscience.

Well, the swimsuits would then go to some washing facility, get clean, and reappear, prior to the next swim class for us to collect from the bucket. That was the process and we were forced to live by it.

I thought we had all agreed to live by it too, until one day, when my swimsuit went missing. Yep, stolen. The worst part of it all. The other kid had the nerve to wear it to the next swim class. There he stood wearing my (wait for it) red Speedo. Ewww. I don’t know what is nastier, my memory or the fact that I once wore a red Speedo to junior high gym class. Ewww.

There you have it, my distracting story designed to sooth the wounds associated with the loss of a favorite piece of apparel. Plus, as an added bonus, now I have a story about how I gave my eight faithful blog readers the vision of a young Dave in a Speedo that will not leave their memory anytime soon. For this, I owe you one. Thank you.