Inquiring Minds Want To Know

This blog was launched a little over a year ago, but the Rocky Road Scholar started writing long before that. About 25 years ago, the bug to "report news" bit me hard.

We had just moved from north Florida to Bismarck, N.D. It was quite the change in scenery. Many of my new friends had newspaper routes. Delivering the paper just didn't do it for me. I longed to be on a different side of the business. I was more interested in the content.

Unfortunately, at the time, news and other current events didn't measure up to the action happening inside Rocky's residence. There was much better news at home, and I was just the kid to report it.

My Mom and Dad had an old typewriter and a copy machine in their home office, so printing would not be an issue. It was just a matter of writing the copy. Granted, I didn't churn out enough to fill the New York Times. I wrote just enough to fill one standard 8 1/2 x 11 sheet of paper, which I named Rocky's Record. But it was loaded with good stuff.

Initially, my newspaper started to take a tabloid slant. It was mainly a bunch of gossip about my sister, Bubbles, who was 16 at the time. It was the perfect vehicle to continue picking on her, a little brother's duty. I mainly focused on who she was rumored to be dating, what she was wearing, what she ate and other juicy tidbits, ala The National Enquirer or The Star.

I tested the waters with Bubbles Sleeps Until Noon Again. That went over OK, so I tried Ditzy Bubbles Loses Scrabble Game to Sixth-Grader Brother next, before rolling the presses with Bubbles' Room Declared Disaster Area.

Eventually, I became an even bolder reporter, daring to tell the story: Shuttle Astronauts Report Seeing Zit on Bubbles' Face From Space. It read: "Yes, the zit was as big as Mt. St. Helens and every bit as unstable. But Bubbles has been working extra hard to try and contain the disaster, trying to pop it with a tweezers. Word on the street is, as soon as Dad gets home, he's going to help her take care of business with a vice grip, a hammer and a large chisel."

I even branched out on this story and was a photographer as well. I took a snap shot with a Polaroid Instant camera of her trying to pop it in the bathroom mirror. She went all Sean Penn on my ass, trying to inflict damage on her paparazzi brother, the camera and the fresh polaroid. The story still ran.

Eventually, I took on even bigger news stories, like Welcome to Dumpsville: Population, Bubbles.

It read: "Bubbles and Steve broke up four nights ago, but she's still laying in bed blubbering about it. He was a jerk. Get over it. When she isn't in bed bawling over this loser, she comes upstairs to have a snack, which usually consists of 4 donuts, 2 bananas, 2 Eggo waffles and about 7 glasses of orange juice. How long will it take for her to get over this? We're not sure, but it's no biggie. It's not like she's an old maid now."

You'd think this kind of edgey journalism would have led to death threats, but Bubbles would always laugh it off in the end. Until she heard I was selling copies of my paper to neighbors for 25 cents. Then she was pissed. But she forgave me again a while later and laughed about it.

Mom and Dad thought although it was a little mean at times, it was a major creative outlet for me. Maybe I reminded them of Peter "Scoop" Brady with my newspaper reporter fixation. I could have been a far worse brother, spraying Bubbles and her friends' with some goofy volcanic science experiment. But even Mom and Dad reached a point where no news was good news.

Like the day they were engaged in kitchen combat. Unfortunately, an embedded reporter was at the snack bar, eating pizza. He took notes on a napkin and it became his Pulitzer Prize hopeful story Stove Off But Kitchen Heats Up.

It read: "Dad took Mom's questions of why he was late for lunch as "nagging." As the tension grew, barbs were traded until Dad finally bellered 'Ah, blow it out your big ass!' Mom was lightning quick with her response: 'Oh, yeah? My ass isn't half as big as yours, buddy!'"

After Bubbles and I laughed about this fight for 20 minutes, I realized this was my Woodward and Bernstein moment. I had to get cracking on that cover story. Needless to say, those quotes were a huge hit with the neighbors. I sold a record number of Rocky's Record that day - 13 copies. It proved to be an unlucky number.

One of the copies came back to Mom and I quickly learned about censorship. She flipped when she found out I sold a play-by-play of her and Dad's kitchen spat to the whole neighborhood for $3.25. Rocky's Record was immediately shut down.

Mom and Dad laugh about all that now. And they actually enjoy my blog. So no worries of Rocky Road Scholar getting its plug pulled after this trip down Memory Lane.