Bobby Akart - First Strike

Lacey, Owen, and their son, Tucker, were not unlike millions of other American families gathered around the dinner table that night as they discussed the nuclear attack. They’d grimaced when, despite the warnings of the media that the following images were graphic in nature, they couldn’t look away from the devastation wrought by the nuclear bombs.

Lacey cried when she saw orphaned children, maimed and burned, crying for their parents while they clutched a doll or toy. Owen set his jaw in anger as the pundits explained why Iran thought they had a right to attack Israel. Tucker scowled in disbelief when some reporters warned a nuclear war could be brought to American soil.

The solemn news overshadowed what should’ve been a celebration for the family when Owen broke the news that he got the promotion together with a substantial raise. He was even rewarded with a few days off at the end of the upcoming week.

“Okay. Enough of this,” began Lacey as she turned off the television that had been playing in the background as they ate. “We’ve heard it all, and now they’re just regurgitating and speculating, their favorite pastime.” She and Peter had vastly different opinions of the role of the media in America. Lacey’s was more closely aligned with her father—why can’t they just tell the truth from all sides. Peter’s perspective was different since it was his passion and job.

“I agree, Mom. I’ve been thinking about a way to spend Dad’s extra days off besides him doing chores around the house.”

“How do you know that’s what I had in mind?” asked Owen.

“’Cause that’s what you do lately, Dad. The three of us haven’t been hiking and camping since last spring.”

“You and your mom have gone,” said Owen with a tinge of guilt in his voice. He knew his son was right. He’d been far too focused on his career at Yahoo, promotion and raise notwithstanding. He needed to live in the present with his family.

“As luck would have it,” interjected Lacey, “there are no honey-dos on the hubby’s to-do list. We can all just chillax or—”

“You can pull me out of school for a few days, and we can head to the mountains,” said Tucker, finishing his mom’s sentence in a manner she hadn’t planned. “I’ve got it all planned out.”

Owen chuckled and leaned back in his chair. He and Lacey exchanged subtle smiles and encouraged their son to continue.

“Have you guys checked out the weather forecast for the Sierra Nevadas?”

Lacey started to laugh and shrugged. “Um, can’t say that I have. How about you, Owen?”

“Nope. What did I miss?”

“Snow, you guys. No cap . The forecast is calling for snow at the end of next week.”

Owen and Lacey burst out laughing. They tried not to show their age when talking with their fifteen-year-old son, especially since they were in their late thirties and hardly ancient. Phrases like no cap , the new-and-improved version of for real or no lie used often in their younger years, required evening internet research sessions to decipher.

Once Tucker had entered high school, new words were introduced into his vocabulary. While playing football one afternoon, Lacey heard Tucker and his buddies shout yeet from time to time. She learned yeet was an expression used by teens instead of bam or boom , with the presumed accompanying explanation point, of course.

Lacey recalled laughing so hard she was in tears that evening as she relayed her observations to Owen. Without a word, he’d hustled off to the kitchen, returning with a stockpot and a wooden spoon. Then he retrieved a white dinner jacket out of his closet and a pair of tighty-whitey underwear. He pulled the drawers on top of his head and adjusted them just so in the mirror. Then he put on the white jacket and turned to Lacey with pot and spoon in hand.

“Who am I?” he asked nonchalantly, starting the guessing game they played often, along with would you rather?

“More clues, please,” asked Lacey as she laughed, already amused by his antics.

Owen smacked the pot with the wooden spoon, held it high over his head, and yelled, “Yeet!”

Lacey immediately picked up on the reference to Chef Emeril Lagasse, who was known to throw out the word bam during his food presentations. She laughed and cried so hard she couldn’t manage to get out the words.

This did not deter Owen from beginning round two of the who am I? game. He dropped all of his props and rustled through the closet. He located an orange and black soft-shelled jacket bearing the San Francisco Giants logo on the back. Then he retrieved a wooden baseball bat out of the closet that had been autographed by Barry Bonds at a Yahoo corporate event he’d attended.

He rushed into the bathroom, found some hair gel, and worked with his sandy blond locks to get the raggedy surfer-dude look. Then he emerged, donning the orange and black jacket, with bat in hand.

“Who am I?” he asked with a straight face. He pulled the bat up and rested it on his right shoulder and struck a pose with his chest puffed out.

Lacey struggled to reply. Her sleeves were already covered with mucus mixed with tears that continued to stream down her cheeks. She waved her arms and tried to reply but couldn’t. Owen was glad to help her out.

“More clues?”

She nodded.

Owen proceeded to hop around the bedroom, slamming the bat toward the floor, yelling, “Yeet! Yeet!”

“Bam! Bam!” she joined in the shouting and nearly peed herself as she lost any semblance of composure.

Tucker’s voice invaded her subconscious. “Whadya think, Mom?”

“Um, about what?”

“The plan. Are you in?”

Lacey glanced at Owen, who nodded. She shrugged. “Yeah, let’s do it. But, um, can we go over it again?” She started to laugh to herself. It felt good.

“Go ahead, Tuck,” said Owen. “I’m gonna pour us a glass of wine.”

“Make it three,” said his son. “Sooo lit.” Cool, in teen-speak.

“Not a chance, pal.”

Tucker frowned and then explained what was happening with the cold front that had swept through the mountains and the other one that was approaching.

“They had a record snowfall in Lake Tahoe overnight. It kinda got lost in the news with all that’s happening over there, but some of my friends who are farmers are pretty stoked.”

Lacey was surprised. “Snow in October? I can’t even remember the last time that happened.”

“More than just snow, Mom. I’m talking GOAT levels.” GOAT was an acronym used for greatest of all time. It was often overused, but in the case of the unusual winter precipitation that was ongoing, it was the truth. The snowmelt to follow was much needed by Northern California farmers.

The horrific drought conditions had made it difficult for farmers to make ends meet. Pressured by banks to pay their notes despite the lack of crop production, many of them took to growing grapes to supply local wineries. Others in the higher elevations converted their lands to grow hemp and marijuana like so many others in California.

The drought had another significant impact. Wildfires had devastated hundreds of thousands of acres across the state. The drought conditions and high winds at that time of year created a worst-case scenario in the event a negligent camper or a careless smoker started what might ordinarily be a harmless flame. The fires had been burning since September but were largely contained.

“So you’re thinking South Lake Tahoe for snowboarding?”

“You name it, Mom. Wouldn’t it be great to get away? Heck, we can even unplug the television in the room so we don’t have to listen to that crap anymore.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.