Jeremy

“A boy," he cried, "at last a boy." Tears coursed down Joe's cheeks as he stood in the delivery room in a small western hospital. He tenderly took Clara's hand in his own, pressed it to his cheek and whispered softly, "Thank you, my darling. For fifteen long years I have waited for this moment. Although I love my seven daughters fervently, I have longed for a son - an heir to my name."

"Clara smiled up at her husband. The pain and discomfort associated with bringing a new soul into the world faded rapidly into distant recesses of her mind. "He will be a beautiful boy, Joe, and I am sure that he will be a world class pole-vaulter just like you."

And Jeremy WAS a beautiful boy. He was bright, he laughed easily, and his seven sisters waited on him constantly. In fact, each sister could hardly wait until it was her turn to watch Jeremy while Dad and Mom were away.

One sultry summer night, just after Jeremy's first birthday, his parents returned home from an evening out to find Sarah, the oldest sister, standing on the front step with a look of great distress on her face. "Oh, Daddy, she began, "my beautiful baby brother has ... " She suddenly dissolved into tears. Joe and Clara rushed frantically into the house and burst into the nursery where they found a very unhappy Jeremy squirming in his bed. His once flawless baby skin was a mass of ugly, red bumps from his dimpled knees to his plump belly.

"It's all right, Sarah," her mother whispered gently. "This is simply a bad case of diaper rash and will pass quickly."

The rash did pass, and Jeremy continued to grow and develop. He was fast becoming the ideal son Joe had wished for, for so many years. Jeremy's metamorphosis from a tiny child into the premier teenaged pole-vaulter in the state was marred only on rare occasion. It seemed that nearly every time an important track meet was scheduled, his stomach would break out in an ugly rash, and he would be forced to compete in great discomfort. Doctor Jackson thought the young athlete's strange malady must be a manifestation of stress. As time went on, the competition became stiffer and Jeremy's affliction became increasingly worse. No longer was he subjected to a simple rash. Big competitions always produced several very painful cysts on his stomach, making the act of arching over the high crossbar almost impossible.

"I'm terribly sorry, folks," Doctor Jackson lamented. "I have tried every known cure for Jeremy's illness. I've referred you to every specialist I can think of and yet your son continues to suffer. I'm afraid that I must advise you to terminate Jeremy's career in competitive athletics. If you value your son's health, you must convince him to give up his hopes for an Olympic gold medal."

Jeremy took the news from his parents with the grace of a mother grisly bear suddenly separated from her cubs. "No one can keep me away from the Olympic Games next summer," he shouted. "Doctor Jackson can take his advice and smoke it. You wait and see. I will find a way to prove him wrong."

Jeremy abandoned traditional medical wisdom in search of a cure for his debilitating illness. For six solid months he searched among non-traditional health practitioners for an answer to his problem. All he got was bad advice and a thinner wallet. Finally Jeremy found himself on a hilltop in the heart of California's Big Sur country. Seated before him was a frail man dressed in robes. "I must tell you, sir, that I have little faith in your philosophies. But you are my last hope and the games are but three months away. Are you sure your scheme will work" Jeremy finished speaking and glared at the man before him.

"Yes, my son, you will see. There is no other way. You must eat my high calorie formula until you have added a 2-inch layer of fat to your waistline. Your performance will not be hurt since you will be rid of the pain that has haunted you for so long. And remember, Jeremy, that you must also wear this special belt buckle wherever you go, for it's secret compartment contains the key to my cure. When you win your medal, return to the mountain, and I will reveal the buckle's contents to you."

Jeremy left the mountain suspicious and disappointed. He didn't trust the old man, but he had no other choice. From that day on, he faithfully ate the high calorie formula and wore the belt buckle.

And so it was that America's finest pole-vaulter entered Olympic Stadium to the derisive catcalls of his fellow athletes and the crowd. Jeremy looked nothing like a world-class athlete, for his once granite hard stomach now hung over a weird looking belt buckle in a generous fold of fat. The confidence Jeremy exhibited as he strode purposefully toward the vaulting area was only skin deep. His mind was screaming at him, "that old goat has made a fool of you. You can't even clear a ten-foot bar, much less win today."

Jeremy's despair turned to a glimmer of hope when he easily cleared the bar at the starting height of 16 feet. Hope turned to enthusiasm, and then to the sweet anticipation of victory as his vaults continued to outdistance the bar as it gradually inched skyward.

Finally the competition was gone. Jeremy stood alone at the top of the runway. The gold medal was his, and the bar was set at world record height. Strength and supreme confidence surged through his body. The moment was his --- and not the slightest hint of a blemish marred his rotund midsection. The rush at the bar began. Jeremy flew down the runway. The pole lodged itself solidly in the socket as the vaulter catapulted himself forward, bending the pole nearly double. Time seemed to slow to a walk as the pole straightened, propelling Jeremy toward the bar and over, grazing his target with a leg. He tumbled to the mat and lay there, breathlessly watching the bar quiver on its stands, and then come to rest. The stadium erupted into bedlam. The record was his.

"My son, all things are possible to those who believe." Jeremy was once again standing in front of the frail man on a California mountain." And now, the man continued, "give me the belt buckle and I will reveal its secret."

Jeremy gently removed the belt from his now famous paunch and laid it at the philosopher's feet. Carefully the secret catch was released and hidden hinges rotated silently. The secret of the buckle lay exposed in the afternoon sunlight. At first Jeremy didn't recognize the small, black object before him. Then a look of bewilderment crossed his face as he beheld a common drugstore chronograph.

“Yes, Jeremy" chuckled the old man. “A time piece and my high calorie formula. For the ancients have truly written…….. A watched pot never boils."

end