Life can be interesting with teens around. I have to apologize to anyone on Reynolds Road Thursday morning who may have been startled by a stuffed green and furry “Yoda” waving through the window. See, it’s a backpack where my son, Ian, is keeping the t-shirts he is selling. The shirts to promote the band he’s in. The band that, by the time you’re reading this, will have performed in the Battle of the Bands competition sponsored by the Jam Box at the Sparks in the Park festival. I wish I could tell you how they fared in the show, but my time machine needs a new carburetor, so I had to park it out back until I save up enough money.

The band name is Ready For Battle. It’s an appropriate name for a Battle of the Bands, but the boys didn’t realize the relevance until after they entered. They’ve practiced enough that a neighbor finally came knocking on the garage door and told them to turn it down. We don’t know which neighbor since there aren't windows on the garage. We’re sorry, anonymous fed-up neighbor!

After they are done with the Battle of the Bands, they have some lofty goals, if not just weird. Some in the south might use the following phrase to describe these kids: “He ain’t right in the head.” I like them that way, though. Here’s what they have in mind. Using their talents, experience and obvious wisdom beyond their years, they have decided to set a world record for the biggest pie fight.

Jim and I were humoring the boys by helping to analyze the logistics of said endeavor. The current record is something like 400 custard pies thrown by something like 150 people. After examining those high numbers combined with the cost of custard, we wondered if a different kind of pie wouldn’t do the trick for a decent record. Not cherry or apple – that would be too expensive. Maybe just whipped cream in the pie? It occurred to me that the Little Debbies plant is in Arkansas, so maybe it could be a Zebra Cake fight. Then I got tired of the idea and suggested maybe they try for the record of teen saving the most money from a part-time job while graduating with straight A’s.

The next morning, I’m taking Ian to school. It is generally a silly experience with the two of us in the car, but it was the views outside of the car that cause the inevitable giggly ruckus this time. We’re sitting at the same stop light on Reynolds Road, where Yoda had startled a woman the morning before, and I’m squinting at a car in front of me. The driver is wearing a lime green crocheted hat like the ones you see people wearing in Jamaica. My eyes drop down to see the bumper sticker on the car:

“Obama is my homeboy.” Laughter ensues and the light turns green.

Not a block away, we spot the marquis on the Big Red Valero sign.
“RED BOX
DVDS AVAILABLE
BANANA ROYALE.”
Now, Ian and I both know there’s a Baskin-Robbins inside Big Red, but we can’t help ourselves.
“Hey Ian, do you think that’s some kind of new James Bond movie?”
“Yeah, it’s got a monkey in it – Agent Double-O-Ape.”
Giggle giggle giggle.

I drop him off at the high school and after I get done shaking my head at the spiky hair, orange slip-on sneakers, knee-length skin-tight jeans and Yoda on Ian's back, I pull away to head to work. That’s when I see a spiffy red truck that is costing someone’s parents a bundle in insurance. It has some white writing on the back window scribbled in that stuff you write on windows with:

“I make a diff. I work @ Walmart.”
Now that’s either a proud employee, or somebody else wrote it. I’d like to know the story behind that one.

I’ve gotta share all this weirdness, so I called my dad, who told me to take a deep breath, since I had already had too much fun and wasn’t even at work yet. Then he paused to think and said, “You know that new campaign on the billboards, ‘Find It In Bryant?’ This must be what they’re talking about.”

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This column appeared in The Benton Courier, April 26, 2009. Copyright 2009 Shelli Russell, All rights reserved.

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