The single best thing about writing this column is this; hearing from readers, especially those with stories of their own to tell. The worst things about reader mail is this; a lot times, readers' stories are better than mine are. That's hard on the ego, folks. I'm thinking right now of Jim H. of Kentwood, who wrote in regard to a column entitled "Of Boxcars and Summer Vacations." That column was pure reminiscence, detailing my pre-teen adventures in "train-hopping." Jim (whose last name I'm not using because he confessed to a Class B felony in his letter and I don't want him arrested at this late date) not only hopped trains in my old neighborhood, but actually derailed one. This was in the late 1940s, and Jim was technically a juvenile, so it's likely the statute of limitations has run out on this particular crime. But I'm not taking any chances with Jim's freedom; he sounds like a nice guy. Back then, lumberyard workers would move the empty boxcars around with long poles with big levers wedged between the track and the wheels. On this particular Saturday, the workers forgot to hide the poles at quitting time and a group of kids - of which Jim was a member - decided to release the brakes on a few cars and nudge them a few feet along with the poles. Thanks to a small downhill grade, the cars moved easily. And kept moving. All three boxcars. Rolling helter-skelter across Eastern Avenue, the cars finally derailed at the switch block a little farther along the line. The road was blocked for hours while the Grand Trunk people hunted down an engine crew, fired up the steam engines (these were pre-diesel days) and moved the cars out of the road. The entire neighborhood turned out to watch the show and marvel at the fact that a "wind storm" had blown all those boxcars across the road. As Jim H. said in his letter, "It took 60 or more years but the truth is now known." Jim tells the story better than I've told it here, but he's had 60 years to get it right. And if I were to relate it verbatim, it would constitute plagiarism, rather than merely "passing the story along." I'm pretty sure I can't be sued for "passing the story along." So I'll pass along another, this one from Michele W., who wrote to tell me of the time - not long ago - she was changing the diaper of her sixth-month-old son, Nick. Michele's daughter, five, was playing nearby with a neighbor girl who came from a family with no sons. Oh, hell, I'll let Michele tell it: "(She) only had a sister, so she was very curious when I was changing Nick's diaper," Michele writes. "She hung around and hung around. When I had the diaper off, she looked at Nick and said, ‘Boy, wait till you grow up. You ought to see how big that thing's gonna get!'" Michele managed to maintain her composure and respond, "Yes, it grows just like the rest of you." Michele told me she was relieved when that was the extent of her "Kindergarten sex ed class." Another letter that stands out in my mind is one I received from Thomas S. of Taipei, after I wrote a column about some odd restaurants there. In that column I poked fun of Taipei's restaurants, some of which feature themes that - to Westerners, at least - seem downright bizarre. Thomas, a Grand Rapids native who moved to Taipei to work as a translator, took me to task for giving people the wrong impression of his adopted country. He pointed out that Ding Tai Feng - a Taipei restaurant (with a name that sounds like silverware falling on a tile floor) - was voted by the New York Times as one of the ten best restaurants in the world. More importantly, a full spread for four might set you back as little as $30, American. Add to that the fact that Taipei is generally a "no-tipping" district, and, well, you have my attention, to say the least. By the time Thomas was finished extolling the virtues of Taipei, I was ready to move there myself. Granted, Thomas' letter wasn't particularly hilarious, but it was very informative. By the time I'd finished reading it, I felt I knew enough about Taipei to serve on the city council there, though no offers in that regard have been forthcoming. Some of my favorite letters have been the shortest. One particularly succinct missive came from a "Mr. Cheng," following the publication of my column on bad Chinese-English translations found in assembly manuals. Mr. Cheng writes: "Much big time fun I am finding in your last reading. We too helping you are keeping up the work. Good. The story of which I am speaking is fine success here. In the home. Sign, Mr. Cheng." (The e-mail return address on this one listed the sender as a Greg H., so "Mr. Cheng" might be a pseudonym.) In the past year or so, I've also received: - Helpful hints (the perfect sore throat cure from Patricia M.);
- Good suggestions (New Year's Eve resolutions I should definitely consider, from "Squeaky");
- Historical perspectives (tales of picking up dirty, filthy, hippie hitchhikers back in the ‘60s, from Diane R.);
- Compliments galore (many from Dorothy S., who says more nice things about me than I'll ever hear from the Lovely Mrs. Taylor);
- Complaints and criticism (from Scott W., stationed in Iraq, who thinks I should stop being a such a wuss when it comes to doing things Mrs. T's way);
- Concerns (from Mick and Arlynn, who were worried I'd stop writing my column to take a job at the American Tasting Institute);
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- Offers to buy Avon (from Antoinette Q. who can tell from my column mug shot that I desperately need anti-wrinkle eye cream);
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- Lovely Biblical quotes (from John H., who really knows his scripture);
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- Admonitions (from Peter V., who talked me into giving up tanning - he presented a very convincing case); and
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- Comparisons (to Miami Herald columnist Dave Barry, who I love, so this is a Big Compliment, from Sharon Z.).
I usually tackle reader mail Monday mornings. It's a great way to start my work week. And it's one of the things that make this the best job in the world. (With the possible exception of that gig at the American Tasting Institute - I'm still waiting to hear back from them.)
To contact Mike Taylor with your questions, comments, or stories that are better by far than the junk he writes, e-mail mtaylor@midmich.net or write via snail mail to: Mike Taylor, c/o Valley Media, Inc., PO Box 9, Jenison, MI 49429. Want more? Archived "Reality Check" columns as well as photos, links and previously unpublished "mini-columns" may be found online at http://mtrealitycheck.typepad.com. |