Miracle on 15-501

My dad's early and generous Christmas gift to me was a new set of tires for my car. He humorously made the appointment for today at 7:30 a.m. and suggested that we both go. I stayed up until 2 a.m. last night to blitz old friends with Christmas e-mails, my version of the Christmas card.

I felt a little blitzed myself this morning when we drove to the shop in my car. Of course the shop did not open until 8 a.m., but Dad wanted us to be ready when they got there. He and I put ourselves in the interesting position of giving the car to the shop in a strip mall that had no breakfast possibilities. At least I thought we would not be able to eat breakfast.

"Surely that Food Lion has a little diner in it," he said as optimistically as a new, working Santa.

"Dad, Food Lions don't have diners," I said as calmly as possible. I knew from experience that arguing any of his unusual falsities with even an ounce of emotion bore no fruit. "I have never seen a grocery store with a diner."

"All Food Lions have diners," he said.

"That's good. Does Illinois have Food Lions?" I asked.

"Nope," he said. His argument was falling apart already, but I doubt he knew it. Oh well. If I wanted to tire out this dog, I had to let him run free.

We walked into the Food Lion. His eyes darted along the overhead signs as if he could not remember whether the diner was between the bread and candy aisles or the health and frozen food aisles.

Oh God, please do not ask a cashier where the diner is, I thought desperately. If he tried to talk to anyone, I would have faked a hamstring cramp. My dad loves to stretch in public, so any sign of muscular discomfort would have averted his attention from the alleged diner.

I did not need to play the hamstring card. My dad patiently walked to the deli and poked his head around.

"Oh my goodness," he said. "This Food Lion doesn't have a diner."

I did not say a word. Maybe he believes what he said, I thought. Surely his neurons had connected. He figured out that he was in a grocery store and, in fact, should be outside of the grocery store to begin his search for a diner.

"Let's walk around to the other side and see," he said. The neurons had not connected. The best end to this story would have been us finding a lovely diner in the cheese and milk aisle, but then I probably would not be writing it. We found no diner, and my dad was OK with that.

"What a great idea a diner would be," I could have said. "Why have all this food and no diner? Better not mention it to anyone, though. Maybe we can sell the idea later."

I decided that such a comment would only enable future misunderstandings like this when I might not be around to feign bodily harm. I love my dad, and I would be the fool for him no matter what he does.

We walked outside and, incredibly, saw the 501 Diner across the street. Maybe I was the fool after all in this Christmas miracle.

Hygienist

I went to my dentist today. One of the great surprises of my adult life was how short a dentist appointment is when nobody stuffs your face with mouth guards full of fluoride for 20 minutes. You go in. They scrape your teeth and floss your gums to make sure you are not a crazy redneck who rinses with beer and flosses with yarn, and then you leave with a goody bag. Still they give you a goody bag. I am OK with that.

Adult appointments do maintain one illogical frustration: hygienists asking you questions while shoving some unpleasant combination of tartar picks, mirrors, polishers, water hoses and spit suckers into your mouth. They never laugh when you try to answer. They act like special education teachers, giving mostly positive reinforcement and simple instructions like "open" and "close" despite your obvious speech impediment.

Why do they do this? I know they cannot understand any of the patients. I think they test to see which patients will try to talk through the instruments. Maybe the receptionists place small bets when you announce your arrival and cash in by the water cooler later.

"That one will slobber all over himself to explain what he does for a living," the one on the left might have said as I retreated to the waiting room.

"No way," number two would respond. "He is reading 'How to Win at Chess,' and it says right here that he teaches high school. He has the patience and intelligence to wait it out. Two bucks."

Well done, number two. You would have won today if such a conversation occurred. The hygienist tried the same old trick, and I gave her the wait-a-minute index finger. I saw her register my response with a disappointed nod. How dare you bet against me, I thought. I am a well-rested teacher on winter break.

Pathetically, I babbled and choked for my whole life until today. The hygienist threw a consolation cheap shot.

"You have a cavity," she said.

Shoot. My first one. No more gargling with beer.

A plug for strangers

My friend Will and I went to a bluegrass show Friday night at The Cave. The band we expected to enjoy, Big Fat Gap, was not the treat of the evening. Instead a local Americana duet, Mandolin Orange, stole our attention for a couple hours. I absolutely have to see them play again next weekend when I might not be dog tired.

Why is Chapel Hill so amazing?

Losing to N.C. State

Carolina lost to N.C. State by a point in the final game of the regular season. The Tar Heels looked excellent in their previous four games, winning at Virginia Tech and Boston College and at home against Duke and Miami. I went to the State game with two friends. It was my fourth consecutive loss as a traveling fan.

Carolina athletes and fans generally agree that State fans are the worst in the ACC. I had no opinion until the fourth quarter when Carolina defensive end E.J. Wilson injured himself with minutes to play. When he stood up after about a minute, a chorus of boos rattled through Carter-Finley Stadium.

"Why are they booing?" I asked my friend. Everyone guessed that State fans booed because they thought Wilson was trying to stop the clock when Carolina needed more time. That pathetic argument disappeared when State milked the rest of the play clock after the referees set the game clock back in motion.

I had never seen fans of a team boo an opponent's injury. Apparently it was business as usual for Wolfpack fans. I was sort of enraged at and sympathetic for this immature group of 50,000. They had problems beyond losing football games. My friends who watched on television said the announcers had to comment since the booing eluded network censors.

We had by that time blown our 10-point halftime lead and missed a potential game-winning field goal. I was feeling almost as bad as I felt in Charlottesville in 2008. The walk of shame back to the car was tough, but not as tough as some. Our friends dodged beer bottles thrown from recreational vehicles. I dodged one belligerent fan who told me to "enjoy the tampon bowl." I think he meant the Meineke Car Care Bowl in Charlotte, which is the best Carolina fan experience in any sport because of its proximity to campus.

Another fan told us to "go back to Chapel Hill." That was good advice.

But of all the dodgy State fans I saw, none upset me more than a guy I heard on the radio the following Monday who thought he was a Carolina fan.

"It's no big deal to lose to State," he said. "All you have to do is go to the RBC Center and look at the empty rafters. We win championships in Chapel Hill."

I immediately placed this fellow into one of two categories. The first category struggles with losing so much that it cannot confront the emotion of disappointment with any honesty or resolve. The second honestly thinks basketball championships mitigate the pain of losing to State's inferior football team three years in a row. This latter category of people does not contain true Carolina fans. The former category is just childish.

We lost to those sad souls three years in a row after a decade of the opposite, and it hurts more than any loss to Duke. State and Virginia are both on next year's hit list. I can feel myself winding up already.

Bright flashes, Libertyville nightlife

I was sick last weekend. I probably had H1N1. I slept a lot, about 17 hours over Friday afternoon and night and more early this week. The rest has made me feel unlike myself. My senses prickled yesterday and today for minutes at some fresh, new feeling that was old at the same time. I felt like a younger person jogging under a bright sun. Is it really the rest? Could it be the spirit of the holidays?

I want to put some sort of reason behind these fleeting bright flashes. Sleep.

Seeing old friends over Thanksgiving was important to me. Libertyville has only three bars, and they all thrive on the same downtown block. Every Wednesday before Thanksgiving, all three fill to the twinkle light windowsills with Libertyville High School alumni of different ages and generations. Walking into any of them is like watching one of those old films that you could only see in a wooden box through a viewing window after turning a crank. Of course, I have never done that. But seeing his face and her face is almost like watching your life flash before your eyes.

I saw one girl whose name I could not remember. I felt detached enough from the reality of her presence to point at her with an outstretched arm.

"Don't do that," my friend said, snuffing out the finger.

"Is that . . . who is that?" I asked. This particular girl was not even a friend of friends in my high school days, but seeing her was sort of refreshing. We both had nowhere else to be on the eve of Thanksgiving. It made me so happy. Libertyville felt like home again for the first time in years.