It was the summer of 1986 (or ‘85, or ‘83…) and I had a bike. She was a Huffy, resplendent in black and yellow paint, and I cleverly named her “Huffy.” And for the bulk of my childhood, she sat in the garage. For you see, I was raised in a rural setting; long on trees, very short on hard pavement. Still, undaunted and in complete defiance of my ability or desire to actually use the bike, I wanted her tricked out. Pimped, in the parlance of our times. The brightly dressed people in the television had told me that if I could only find the right box of Corn Pops, I could find for FREE my very own name on a bicycle license plate! I convinced my mother (the cereal winner of the household) that I would indeed forsake my standard Frosted Flakes in order to obtain as many boxes as possible of these fabled Corn Pops.

Though my timing was years ahead of the current slogan, I found it to be true: I had to have my Pops. Mom relented and brought home my first box. I jammed my slender arm way down into the powdery depths, engaging that primal kid ability to differentiate between plastic wrap and sugary starch sphere. But something had gone horribly wrong. Even before I looked at my FREE gift, I knew by the relief on the stamped metal that it didn’t say “Jad.”

Mom bought a box intended for “Mike.”

Well I would be damned if I’d be pedaling my bike around with “Mike’s” name on it, assuming that was even a real name. I needed another shot at a FREE gift. Eventually Mom agreed to a second box of Corn Pops, contingent on my consumption of the first box. I think some of those Pops might have gone directly into the toilet.

The second box bore a bike plate for “Andy.”

At least this time the folks at Kellogg’s knew enough to put a real kid’s name on the plate. That one went directly to my buddy (named Andy). He lived in town. I watched him from the curb as he biked in circles around his block, beaming with pride. Nearby, girls swooned. Policemen and a passing astronaut gave Andy the thumb’s up. I was happy for Andy but sad for myself. Surely, one more box of Corn Pops would produce the “Jad” plate, considering how many times I had failed? The fine folks at Kellogg’s must know what they’re doing with distributing their FREE gifts, right?

I opened the third box. “Mike.”

I nearly had my mother convinced that Corn Pops would be all the sustenance I’d need, so she might as well stock up on ten or twelve boxes. But by then, the promotion was over. There was to be no personalized “Jad” license plate for Huffy.

Years later, I came to the conclusion that there were never any “Jad” plates produced. There have never been any “Jad” mugs, birthday cards, pencils, backpacks, stress balls, left-handed pinking shears, or any other such bric-a-brac. Observe this:

Yeah.  No tacky “Jad” bags on shelves yet.

Hmmm… maybe that’s not be such a bad thing.

Okay, so, in exactly five and one half months, I and Mary will have done the following:

*planned and executed a flawless destination wedding for up to thirty guests in beautiful St. Thomas, USVI, including catering, booking a flight, guest transportation, and so on.
*learned ballroom dancing through twice-weekly lessons leading up to the wedding, in addition to my regular racquetball game and gym visits.

*become fluent in using ESRI ArcGIS software with a Trimble Geo-XH unit, thereby building a marketable skill for my job hunt.
*found a new job with great pay for myself somewhere in California (or Oregon, or Washington, or the Carolinas, or Georgia…).

*helped Mary finish her PhD and also find a fabulous new job for her in same city.

*found an apartment or house in new city near previously-mentioned new jobs.

*sold or gave away a significant amount of me & Mary’s personal belongings to facilitate the move across the country.

And now, of course, I’ve come down with a cold and can barely talk.

Wheeeeee!