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6 OUR YUCAIPA | JANUARY 2016 The Middle of the Road: By Randy Peters, a middle-aged, middle-income, middle-school teacher I know where I can put my flip-flops Another new year. Another chance to look ahead and wonder what's coming our way. I find it encouraging to know that anything really is possible in the future. This could be the year that the big projects get done around the house. This could be the year the novel gets written. This could be the year of career changes. Maybe this is the year I finally run a 5K, or at least walk one. Anything is possible. Our son was visiting from San Francisco a few weeks ago. We were sitting in the family room. The television was on in the background. It was a good bonding time so I started to talk to him about all the possibilities out there. His career is taking off. His band and solo album "With the Dinosaur" have songs on iTunes that people besides his mom and I could actually buy. We were planning; we were laughing; we were dreaming. Then I saw her. She gets my attention every time, and I hate it. She doesn't know what she does to me. She doesn't know how she makes me feel every time… Every time. I stared at her. She just kept talking. I could see her smooth Cover Girl skin, her perky smile, her well-timed dance moves. "She's probably going to give some stuff away," I muttered under my breath. "I bet they'll all get more than flip flops." "Dad! Dad! You've got to get over this. How can you dream and plan for the future when you can't let go of the past?" my son interjected. I wondered when he became the rational one. But he was right. In order to move on, I have to address this issue. So here goes. My name is Randy, and I have issues with Ellen DeGeneres. Now let's start with the disclaimer: Ms. DeGeneres is a talented, beautiful, puppy-loving success story. My issues go back a few years to one miserable day. My son was the biggest fan of Ellen when he was growing up. He wanted and got all of her DVDs for Christmases and birthdays. He quoted her stories and mimicked her timing when he entertained family and friends. One day, as a surprise, my wife sent off for four tickets to Ellen's show. We were going to take our son and daughter and make great family memories. The tickets arrived. We were shocked when we read that there was a minimum age of 14 to attend the show. Our son, the Ellen aficionado, was just shy of his 14th birthday. He was disappointed, but handled it well when we asked my mom to go with us. We made a point to study Ellen's show before we went. We were excited because she was honoring teachers with special seats and acknowledgments. On the day of the taping, we arrived early. We got in line along the sidewalk where the officials told us to stand. We made a point of telling the officials that my wife and I were both teachers. She told us, "We aren't doing the 'teacher thing' any more. That was last week." Waiting in the line gave us the chance to meet several nice people. They let us know that this taping was going to be the first "Ellen in the Park" show. We're going to be outside all day? We didn't bring sunscreen for mom. Maybe we can sneak out of line and find a drug store somewhere. Speaking of sneaking out of line and having mom with us, we noticed there were no bathroom facilities near the line. During one of her laps along the growing line, the official announced that we can use the bathrooms at the hospital across the street. Our daughter saved our places as my wife, mom, and I crossed the street, trekked through the parking lot, rejoiced that our bladders weren't that full, and headed into the building looking for the facilities. In the elevator, I realized where I had heard of this hospital before. "This must be the place where John Ritter recently died," I announced. Three medically dressed people with badges in the elevator threw out their chests as one stated, "It wasn't our fault. We didn't kill him." Well, that made us feel nervous – and wishing a lawyer was present. We couldn't wait for the elevator doors to open. Eventually the line was walked to the park where the taping was scheduled. We were so excited; we were leading the line. We were laughing. The Ellen official walking with us was laughing. This was going to be great! Then we saw the crowd. "Are these people all in front of us?" we asked. "Oh, no," she said. "These people will stay back here. You and your family are the first ones going in for seats. You're going to see Kirstie Alley, Wanda Sykes, and Gwen Stefani. Enjoy the show!" And she extended her arm down the center aisle. Up ahead were empty seats leading to the stage! I could swear I heard birds singing and flowers blooming throughout the park. The four of us skipped down the center aisle like Dorothy and her friends on the yellow-brick road entering Oz. Halfway down the aisle, another official pointed us down a row of seats and asked us to go to the end. We weren't sure why until we saw how all the other people were escorted in. That's when we realized all the pretty people were taken to the front to be in camera shot. We were off to the side where no camera would ever see us. I felt insulted and embarrassed. My wife reminded me that we were still there to have fun. I calmed down and started to look around. We were next to the dressing room trailers. The seats in front of us were empty. At least I'd be able to see the stage. A woman came into the empty seats with two children. We weren't able to bring our son but these kids could be there? I was heating up. And the children were standing up and blocking my view. My wife saw the look in my eyes and by squeezing my leg reminded me to use my manners. I politely asked the lady to have the children sit down. "They just want to watch their mom," she said. These were Kirstie Alley's kids and I just came within seconds of using my 'teacher voice' on them. This was not going well. At the end of the show, we were told to see the officials to pick up our prizes for attending the show. Prizes? Well things were looking up. We went up to the official who reached in and pulled out four t-shirts. "All we have left are extra-small," she beamed knowing that would never work. "We also have flip-flops for all of you." She handed us gift certificates for flip flops from Old Navy. Flip flops. I am not a flip flop guy. I don't shop at Old Navy. I don't wear extra-small shirts. I think rules about child at tapings should apply to all children. I think old, fat, ugly people could be just as entertaining on camera shots as pretty people. And I don't blame the hospital for John Ritter's death. And, yes, I still think Ellen is one of the smartest entertainers on TV. Who knows? Maybe this will be the year I try to see another taping. I can always donate the flip flops. Keep your eyes on the road.

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