“I’m here to rescue you.”  – Luke Skywalker

“I’m here to scoop your sidewalk.” – Jeff Brown

Chief Meteorologist:  Get ready for the first major snow event of the season.

Ugh, I thought, as I watched the evening news.  My career as a Professional Snow Removal Technician (motto: we put the “labor” in “manual labor”) was set to begin in the morning, and I needed to get ready.  I fumbled through my coat closet.

Parka?  Check.  Coveralls?  Check.  Ski mask?

My wife bought me a ski mask a few weeks earlier and I hadn’t tried it on yet.  I pulled it over my head and it snagged my glasses.  Good grief.  I yanked it off and my poor glasses hit the floor.  I picked them up and tried again, only this time I put the ski mask on first.  Then I slid my glasses on carefully through the ski mask’s face hole.

Needless to say, I was uncomfortable.

I headed for the nearest mirror to see what I looked like.  Staring back at me was some sort of lanky ninja/Jedi wannabe.  My glasses fogged up when I breathed and I whined, “With my ski mask on, I can’t even see.  How am I supposed to scoop snow?”

Obi-Wan: Use the Force, Jeff.

Then I felt myself being drawn to the dark side.

Yoda:  It is a good idea to scare your wife not.

But I couldn’t help myself.  I could almost hear the evil Star Wars theme (you know, the music that played whenever Darth Vader was around) as I walked, no, strode down the hallway towards my unsuspecting wife.

Da da da da da da!

She was standing in the bathroom looking in the mirror.  When she turned around and saw me, I didn’t get the response I was expecting.

Princess Vickie:  Darth Jeff.  Only you could be so bold.  The Imperial Senate will not sit still for this.  When they hear you attacked me in the bathroom–

Darth Jeff: Don’t act so surprised, Your Highness.  I want to know what happened to the plans they sent you.

Princess Vickie: I don’t know what you’re talking about… and you look freaky.

Darth Jeff:  Man, you didn’t even jump.

Then our wookie, Arlo, saw me and nearly had a stroke.

Arlo:  Bark! *cough cough*

He hacked so much he nearly puked.  I always thought it would be neat to choke people with mind powers like Darth Vader, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.

I took the mask off and went back down the hallway.  Dreading the impending snow storm, I remembered a happier, simpler time– a time of unseasonably warm temperatures.

Obi-Wan:  I have something here for you.  Your father wanted you to have this when you were old enough, but your uncle wouldn’t allow it.  He feared you might follow old Obi-Wan on some damn fool idealistic crusade like your father did.

Jeff Skywalker:  What is it?

Obi-Wan:  Your father’s snow shovel.  This is the tool of a Professional Snow Removal Technician.  Not as clumsy or random as a gas-powered snow blower; an elegant tool for a more civilized age.  For over a thousand generations, the Shovel Wielding Professional Snow Removal Technicians were the guardians of sidewalks and driveways in the Old Republic.  Before the dark times…before the first major snow event of the season.

Chewbacca:  Raaaaaaalph!

R2-D2:  Beep, beep.

Dad:  None of this ever happened.  What’s the matter with you, Jeff?

Yeah, I have to admit I’m not terribly excited about being a Professional Snow Removal Technician, but until I win the lottery, this line of work will have to do.  I try to think of snow removal as character building.  Perhaps, someday, it’ll even help be grow stronger in the ways of the Force.

Chief Meteorologist:  Get out your shovel because *cough* it’s going to start snowing tonight.   *cough cough* (He tugs at his collar and keels over.)

“This was the moment I’d been dreading for the past six months. Well, actually for the past 22 years.” – George from the movie Father of the Bride

I told my daughter that she looked beautiful and she shot me the most amazing smile. Then we started walking. Take it slow, I said, we’re not in a hurry.

I still remembered her very first steps. My folks babysat for me when I had to work second shift. One day on my way out the door, Mom called me back. “Come here, Jeff, you need to see this.” Sure enough, my toddler was wobbling her way down the hallway on her own two feet.

A few years later, I found myself holding her little hand as we walked toward the pre-school. She would learn all kinds of important stuff there– colors, sharing, and tying shoes. Somewhere around my house, I still have the big coffee can she practiced tying shoelaces on. The soft plastic lid has holes punched in it with the lace still threaded through it.

Of course, I held her hand during less fun times. There were countless skinned knees, fevers, and even stitches a time or two. There was that scary hospital stay when she had pneumonia, and, when she was older, a broken arm from that damned trampoline. Looking back, all of these experiences seem like pretty routine rights of passages. At those times, however, they scared the hell out of me.

But, she survived. We survived.

I’ll never forget the morning when, all by herself, she used my pliers to take the training wheels off her bicycle. That began our longtime tradition of father/daughter bike rides. During one particularly ambitious summer, my odometer recorded over 100 miles.

As we made it further up the aisle, people began turning around and taking pictures of us. I smiled big and held her arm a little tighter. I glanced at her and found myself getting a little misty. I tried to think about other things.

Earlier in the day, I checked to see how she was doing with all the wedding preparations. Someone was curling her hair. It reminded me of when I used to tie it in pigtails. She was about four or five years old. No matter how hard I tried, it seemed I never could get the part straight. It was a good thing someone else was doing her hair today.

In the afternoon, my wife and I sat in one of the church pews and watched the photographer take shots of the wedding party. Including the bride and groom, there were about a dozen members. The group of young twenty-somethings had been friends since way back– the nineties. Amid the laughing and clowning around, I felt a bit envious. To have such a group of friends! I hoped the strong friendships would help make the marriage strong too.

When my daughter and I reached the front of the church, we stopped. The groom was there waiting for us. I took my daughter’s right hand, the very one I held on her first day of pre-school, and placed it in his. I held on to both of them for a moment and told the groom to take good care of my daughter. He nodded and said that he would.

Then I let go.

There were still important things to come today, but my job was over.

I gave my daughter away.

Over the years, I’ve often wondered when this day would come. Sometimes I dreaded it, but today was a good day. I stood behind her for a few moments as the Deacon began the ceremony, but it was time for this father to go.

She was standing on her own two feet.

Peeping Jeff.

“After hearing the evidence, I will record a verdict of natural causes.”      – John Owen

“After smelling the evidence, I will record a verdict of natural causes.” – Jeff Brown

As I took Arlo for a walk this morning, I was deeply disturbed by the amount of (how shall I put this?) evidence of other dogs that live in my neighborhood.  YUCK.  It seemed every other sidewalk square was flanked by a pile of the stuff, and, in one case, it was actually on the sidewalk.  The whole situation left a bad taste in Arlo’s mouth too.  (Literally.)

This seems like a good time for me to declare to my neighbors (at least the ones who don’t have dogs) that I didn’t do it.

Upon re-reading the preceding sentence, this seems like a good time for me to re-phrase it for clarity.  Here’s a more accurate version:  My dog didn’t do it.

That’s not to say he hasn’t done it.  Perhaps even in your yard if you live nearby.  But, what I’m trying to say here is my wife and I are responsible pet owners.  WE CLEAN UP AFTER OUR DOG.  Vickie and I never leave the house with Arlo without an empty plastic Wal-Mart bag– just in case we need to get rid of some, err, evidence that we recently darkened your doorstep (or made it kind of brownish green).

My wife is especially serious about cleaning up after him.  In fact, whenever she walks the dog, she proudly displays the bag for the entire world to see.  Her body language practically screams to the surrounding property owners, “Relax, I’ve got this situation firmly under control– bagged and tagged.”   (Well, maybe not “tagged.”)

I’m sneakier because I prefer to carry the bag in my pocket.  Yep, I like to keep the neighbors guessing. 

Neighbor #1:  “Does he have a bag or doesn’t he?”

Neighbor #2:  “That Jeff sure is a sneaky one.”

Because I’m such a conscientious person, I sometimes feel bad when Arlo raises his leg and claims the neighbor’s mailbox post as his own.  (I hope it isn’t a federal crime.)  This situation is especially awkward when the neighbor is standing right there, opening his new NRA welcome package. 

Interesting fact: Membership comes with a free decal.

But, what am I supposed to do?  It’s not like I’m going to carry a roll of paper towels with me every time I walk the dog.

Neighbor #1:  I hope he didn’t forget the Lysol.

Neighbor #2:  Does Jeff do windows?

I suppose I should spend less time worrying about the messes my dog makes and more time worrying about getting incarcerated.  That’s right– I think Arlo is trying to get me arrested.

There are quite a few houses in my neighborhood that are near the sidewalk.  There are also quite a few people in my neighborhood who don’t shut their blinds after dark.  Guess where Arlo likes to do his business?

So there I am, standing in front of somebody’s window, while my dog is watering the garden gnome collection.  I try my best not to look inside.  Let me tell you this:  It’s bad enough that I have to suffer through my wife’s favorite show Say Yes to the Dress at home, but when I’m out walking the dog? 

It’s not fair. 

Neighbor #1:  Who’s peeping in my window?

Neighbor #2:  I’m calling the authorities.

Jeff:  Would it kill you guys to change the channel every once in a while?

But I’m not too worried.  I’ll be long gone before the cops show up, and besides, I’m a mastermind neat-freak criminal.  There won’t be any evidence I was ever there. 

Unless, of course, somebody has a picture of me holding the bag.