My work here is done.

Last Sunday, I spoke to the youth in the ward. I told them that I wanted to tell them about three times in my life that I've been chased. I started to tell them about the time I was a Freshman in High School, our band director switched me from clarinet for baritone sax. I was not a good clarinet player. I ended up being an ok baritone sax player, at least as far as high school standards went...

Anyway, the school's baritone sax had this big case with a loose handle. I was playing with the handle one day early on, and the case was wobbling. I twisted it, the case went sideways, and swiped two football players that had 6 inches and about 25 pounds on me. They were running in the opposite direction down the hall, and ended up tumbling into a heap. They looked up at me, and gave me a dirty look. I panicked, dropped everything I had, and bolted. They gave chase.

About this time in telling the story, the youth figured out I was talking about "chased", not "chaste". They started relaxing and chattering a bit. I asked "what did you think I was talking about?" I thought it was pretty funny.

A couple of days ago, we were all in the car, driving back from Salt Lake. Tara asked the girls what it meant to be "chaste". I looked in the rear view mirror, Kate was looking at me laughing a little.

My work here is done.