Wanted: Deep Pockets

One day, when  I was about eight or nine years old, I picked up one of the many paperback mysteries that was lying around our house.

My mom, who was an avid reader, had paperback novels everywhere. I'll admit that, at the time, I wasn't all that interested in reading. Reading was on par with brushing my teeth and eating broccoli. It was something that I thought as being a chore. But I did follow what books my mom read, and the characters that the authors had created. But, at the time, what really fascinated me was the book covers and the paintings that were on them.

They say you shouldn't buy a book for its cover. But when I was a kid, I did just that. Hardy Boys, Bad News Bears: Breaking Training or even, dare I say, a copy of Star Wars all drew me into the cover and the stuff that was in the middle was all filler to me. Because the covers for the books were the movie posters for it, and how I loved looking at movie posters back in the day (I'll let this natural segue slip by this time and geek out on movie poster art later. Lucky you).

So when I saw my mom's copy of Agatha Christie's, "The Body in the Library" lying on the side table, it had intrigued me enough to pick it up and look at it.

On the pale pink cover was a woman who seemed to be sleeping within the shelves of the library, surrounded by multicolored hardback books. At the time I didn't think it made much sense, and had probably even laughed at it. I mean how'd she get in there in the first place?

And up in the top right hand corner there was the familiar publisher's logo. I liked how the letter "P" swooped down into what was a kangaroo running off to the spine of the book. And underneath that it said the word, "Pocket". 

Pocket Books.

POCKET.

And then like a bright light, brilliance happened. And I thought, 'Hey... Wait a second, I have pockets.'

And suddenly I became fascinated by the idea of...

wait for it...

...putting the book IN my pocket.

Now I was a weird kid. I admit that. And for those who knew me then, or even those who know me now are probably all nodding their heads in unison. I've accepted it many years ago. And I'm alright with it. But when I saw the Pocket Book logo I became intrigued. And suddenly the thought of walking around with a book in my back pocket seemed amazingly AMAZING. The skies opened up, sun beams came down on me and a chorus of angles sang. And the world suddenly became a whole lot bigger and it's possibilities were endless.

Now let me break in here for a moment.

I know mentioned the skies, sunbeams and the angels thing, but I don't know if you completely understand the concept on how amazing I thought it would be to be able to put a whole book in your pocket.  A book. In your pocket. A whole book in your back pocket!

AMAZING!

I wanted to try it. And the only thing that was stopping me from doing just that was me. Only me.

So I took the book in one hand and placed it behind me. And slowly, with concentration, fit one of the corners into my back right hand pocket. Step one to book-in-my-pocket mission: Complete. Second corner of book into pocket: Commencing.

But...

It didn't fit.

The book was too wide for my eight year old jeans. And no matter how many times I tried, it just wouldn't fit. The only way it would fit was if I crammed the book in, where it would inevitably bow out. And, trust me, that just looked downright silly. And it wasn't comfortable at all. And walking around?  Forget about it. Chickens have more grace.

Frustrated, I took the book out and put it back on the side table. Was I disappointed? Absolutely. But not as disappointed as I was....

TWELVE YEARS LATER
(or something close to that)

It was late summer 1994 and I was preparing to go back to college (There's a longer story here. I'll just skip it for you for now. So just go with me here). And I was really excited. I had so many things ready to go. Some new clothes, new and horribly expensive books, and art supplies for what was going to be my major: Art. And... what any decent/normal/not-weird student would have: A back pack. But not just any regular back pack. No. A black back pack that had two wide pockets on the back of it.

That's right.

POCKETS.

(add in widening eyes and widening tight-lipped smile: here)

And suddenly I was fantasizing about my days as a college student. Walking around. Going to class. Carrying around stuff. And in between all that I daydreamed that I would go to the student center, reach into one of the wide back pockets of the back pack and pull out... that's right... a book. But, not no ordinary book. No. A Star Wars book.

It was the mid 90's and there was a new re-surging interest in Star Wars. And since the 1991 publication block buster "Heir to the Empire" by Timothy Zahn, there was a multitude of new Star Wars novels and comics that had come out. And by that time I had been transformed from not only being a Cover-Only book buyer to an all around book lover. And the thought of carrying around my book with me, sitting comfortably in my back pack, thrilled me.

And I'm my excitement I even hand stitched the Star Wars logo onto one of those pockets. 

Yup.

Hand stitched. Right. I know. That's equivalent to saying, I self tattooed "place-nerd-icon-here" with only a needle and a Bic Pen on my shoulder. All on my own! Won't the girls swoon now! 

I admit, even though I thought that the stitching could have been better...

(No! Really??)

... I was pretty proud of it. And I already had the perfect book picked out. They had republished Brian Daley's Han Solo trilogy and it was deemed to be the first book for the official (I say that loosely) Star Wars Pocket. If there was a winning moment I had in college, I was living it dear readers.

I.was.LIVING IT.

And when the moment came to place the Star Wars book in the Star Wars back pack pocket, I found out quickly that the book didn't fit.

I can almost see the shock on your face. 

And when I say "it didn't fit", what I mean to say was that I managed to make it fit with a lot of elbow grease. And taking it out was even worse. So the whole idea of having a pocket...

POCKET *swoon*

...for a book was nice. It just wasn't practical if I couldn't store it, or take it out easily. 

So for the second time my book/pocket dreams were destroyed. And with some deep soul searching (and two interventions) I finally came to admit that my book/pocket spacial awareness wasn't as keen as I had hoped or dreamed. 

My book/pocket days were officially over. I had retired.

Finished.

TWENTY YEARS LATER

My eleven year old son is wild about the Erin Hunter cat clan series "Warriors". And as of today he started his thirteenth novel this year.  He has been reading the Warrior series consistently, back-to-back-to-back since the winter of 2014.

I took him out of school today for a doctor's appointment, and while he finished eating the Arby's sandwich I got for him, he asked me if I thought that taking the book in was a good idea.

"I don't think it would be a bad idea, Mister. You don't know if we'll have to wait awhile or not. It'll be nice I have. You know, just in case."

When we got out of the car I saw him trying to put his newest Warriors book in the right hand pocket of his winter coat.

It didn't fit. 

Never did I see something that disappointed my son make me so proud.

Late Beginnings

Hi, my name is Jason Platt. It's great to finally meet you. 

Here's a little tid-bit about me.

And I'm usually late to the party.

No, not the literal party. I'm rarely invited to those. When I am, I'm usually the guy standing in the corner with the "non-toothed" smile on my face, nodding and probably looking like the weird guy that was accidentally invited.

Side note: This probably gave you a pretty weird first impression of what I look like, or what strange social interactions I have. Rest assured dear readers I do, in fact, have teeth. In fact, my teeth are so big that they have been known to be seen from space without the aid of any type of telescope*.

Side note to the side note: I am and have been successfully invited to parties before (I probably gave you the wrong impression when I said that I was "accidentally invited to parties"). Truth of the matter is that I am that friend who just plain loves to laugh. And--if it's in good taste--you might find me laughing at the relentless teasing that my friends, and even loved ones, have endured me with over the years. As I've grown older I've realized that being able to laugh at yourself is a good quality to have.

But I digress:

On more than one occasion I have felt and even thought to myself, "Wow, look at me, I just used a quotation mark for an internal monologue... wait, I'm talking out loud!" and after that literary mishap I would actually think, 'Wow... I should have been at this point in my life a long time ago. Why didn't I get here sooner?' 

I know, I know. It doesn't matter when you get there, as long as you do.

Blah blah blah blah.

I've heard it before. I've even told it to myself from time-to-time, I have even said it to other people. Had I known about the T-shirt, I probably would have purchased a few. On the up-side: Had I known about the T-shirt, my dresser drawers would probably be overstuffed with them by now.

I remember when I was a senior high school I was amazed how classmates not only knew where they were going to college, but knew what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives. FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES. I could barely make a solid decision on what movie I wanted to go see that weekend, let alone beginning the steps on a foreseeable future.

At the time I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I had no plan and had no particular drive. Even though I went to the local community college right after graduation, it wasn't until three years later, and a lot of self searching, before I had a clue of what it was I wanted to do. And when I got to that point I thought, 'why did it take me so long to get here?'

It can be hard to figure out where life takes you. It can be hard to learn from mistakes you've made in the past, and, sometimes, even harder to push out the left over energy you have at the end of the day to pursue what you really want to do.

I have thought about doing a blog like this for sometime now. But it was one of those "I'll get to one day's" type of thing. I had tried to so something like this a few years ago with not much success (I was trying to do something more linear at the time.) I'm not saying I'll be great at this whole thing. I'm not saying that I will have anything in particular interest to share. Or even claim that I will write something profound or anything with meaning.

That being said I will share with you some if my favorite stories I've experienced; some of my successes and some of my failures. Stories of both fatherhood and being a husband. And--of course--the stories that are embarrassingly awesome about myself. For some of you who know me personally, you might have heard some of these before. But you know... there are some stories that are worth hearing again.

I can't say I know exactly where I'll end up with all of this, but I can say with certainty:  It's better to have a late beginning than no beginning at all.

*this may or may not be an exaggeration on my part.