The short stories of an audacious little boy

I was raised in the Salt Lake Valley for the first four years of my life. It was a great four years with many stores and trials for my parents. Let’s just say if you were to ask my mom who was a bigger handful my triplet sisters or wonderful me, her unwavering answer would undoubtedly reply with me. Why, you ask, would just one little boy be so much trouble? Here are a few great reasons why.

My favorite toy at the age of two and a half was my dad’s hammer. I was fascinated with the sounds it made when hitting different random objects. My favorite sound was made when I would hit metal. One afternoon I was playing my favorite game in the backyard with my tool toy, hitting the wood fence, the sidewalk and eventually finding my way to the back of the yard where a large propane tank was placed. The sound it made was that of a hollow gong each time I tapped on it. I eventually found my way to the nozzle, and then tapped away because it made a different sound. I didn't know that this was causing the knob to release its propane gasses. Terrified at the growing white mist appearing in front of me I ran to the only person I could trust to save me, my mommy. Being only two years old all I could mutter was “moking mommy moking.” Now with mom alerted the situation was slowly starting to be resolved, but only after her frantic stare at what was happening and a distressed 911 call. Sad to say I had a long sit down with a fire chief concerning safety and precautions about propane tanks.

Like any kid I loved to find hiding places and secret passages. In our backyard there was a garage just close enough to the fence to make a perfect narrow passage, which could be used in various stories and journeys to other lands. One dreadful day instead of a mythical trap there was a real trap. On the wall in the passage was a 1’ by 2’ nest of honey comb bees! Having been too young to understand what this was I began to giggle and play with the few that were starting to pay attention to me. That was until simultaneously I was attacked by the little yellow jackets. Again I ran to the first person I trusted and knew she could help. I ran strait to my mom carrying 15 bees along with me. I don’t know who was screaming louder, me or my mom. Sad to say that I got over 9 bee stings one being on the lip and many more over my arms. It was safe to say that I was not allergic to bees.

As a young child I learned how to get into stuff and find new and interesting things. Other than the occasional coloring on the wall I kept my stuff from destroying the house. That was until I discovered that mom’s makeup could be used to color things just like a crayon. I soon found out that you can also use it to color your hands, feet and leave evidence of the makeup anywhere in the house. I decided to share this discovery with my 8 month old little sisters. I gave them the blush and powder to play with because I wanted the lipstick. Some time went by as our little train of coloring mayhem made its way around the living room and back into our own rooms. I don’t know what was worse having to clean up the mess or the fact that I was punished and the sisters just got cleaned up and sent off to nap. I never saw makeup lying out in the open ever again.

As I said before I liked to go on adventures, mostly due to having a large hunger for new experiences. One day in midsummer I was playing the explorer game in the back yard with just a shirt and diaper on. Recently my dad had installed a very tall wooden fence in order to contain my curiosities. This fence was no match for my determined little mind as I climbed up and over. Parents have this sixth sense about welfare of their kids. It’s like they can feel if something is not right or missing. In order to chase after a missing boy it required my triplet sisters to be packed up in their 3 sealer stroller. So just imagine a frantic mother with three little kids scanning everything in the general direction that I had traveled, in search for the half clothed boy. First she encountered a neighbor who informed her of an odd dressed kid walking north on that road. Heading in the last known direction my mom encountered in the street a crew of construction workers with heavy machinery and a backhoe. Apparently I had climbed onto the backhoe and was playing around with the knobs. “Luckily the key wasn't in the machine or else I would have caused some major damage,” said the worker to my mother. Eventually following the large block around the neighborhood and back to the house she found little helpless Jordan stuck on the tall wooden fence. I had been caught and was suspended by my shirt which was snagged on the top. That evening I had to miss dinner and was a very sad little boy for taking off like that.

Being very young and innocent, when the parents went out on dates they got a baby sitter. I was usually good with babysitters, never put up a fuss, kept quiet and never threw tantrums. What the baby sitter didn't know was of my curiosity. That day a package came in the mail and I wanted to open it. Knowing that sharp things could cut through tape I eventually found my mother’s sewing rotary razor. I know that’s not the best thing for a 3 year old to have in his little hands but hey the baby sitter wasn't around. She was away doing homework in the kitchen. I sat down on the couch and started to cut the tape on the top of the box. Little did I know that this rotary razor was quite possibly the sharpest and most dangerous blade in the house. The razor did exactly what it was designed to do and rolled right over the top of the box not cutting it but continued to roll right on over my wrist. Screaming in terror of what happened I rant to the sitter. Let’s just say she flipped out, called 911 and did all she could to put pressure on the gushing wound. About this time that my parents were getting back from their date and just like in their worst nightmares saw the ambulance pulling up to the house. The terror that ran through their minds was almost unbearable as there could be many possibilities of what happened. That was the first babysitter that never came back. I made it with 7 stitches, a cool scar, and an even better story.

I like fire. It has been very evident throughout my life. My first experience with fire unsupervised was at the age of 3. It was the amazing new discovery of matches that started this lifelong excitement. Over the short time that I had been alive I knew that if I wanted to do something new, I had to do it hidden. Thus the creepy downstairs was the obvious choice. The sound and brilliant light were dazzling to me as I struck match after match. Eventually I got bored with this and decided to try and make the flame a little bigger. I affixed my attention on a bucket of tools which didn't look like they were being used anymore. Apparently the tools had oil all over them. Oil fires aren't as easy to put out as matches. I was scared from the monster I had created so I left to hide in my room. This wasn't the first time nor would it ever be the last time my mother’s acute sense of smell has either prevented a disaster from happening or gotten me in deep trouble. All I knew was that it would be a very long time before I ever got the chance to play with fire again. This time I was grounded for two weeks and had to miss dinner that evening.

My dad and I were working on remodeling a house. Actually it was him working while I just played around with tools and explored my new neighborhood. By now I was four and was able to pick up bigger tools like a sledge hammer. I know, ironic how I just upgraded in size. Well this particular fall day I found a tube of foaming sealant used to fill in cracks at houses. There is nothing in the world that can remove this material; it has to be peeled off. I wanted to see what was inside of this tube. I took it to a remote location in the front yard and wound up with the big sledge hammer that dwarfed my little frame. When I struck the tube a sudden hiss erupted and the foam which was contained inside the tube covered my face and hair. I wasn't expecting this sort of thing to happen when I began because I had no idea what compression was. Running to the dad we soon realized that the material was hardened and needed to be peeled off. The amount in my hair was not anywhere and needed to be shaved off. There were no repercussions for this story other than the pain of getting the foam pealed off.

Life has been an adventure for me and my family. I have so much respect for my parents for raising such an active little child. I have no doubt in my mind that karma will turn around and give the same pleasures of raising a few boys.