Saturday night was one of those nights. The whole family seemed intent on making me worry. Now, I should mention that, having been raised by Germans and Scandinavians in Wisconsin and attending the Lutheran Church, I know the worst is always yet to come. We don't really panic very often. We just bounce along on a sea of apprehension in our little dinghies of despair. When things go really well, it doesn't make us happy, necessarily. It just convinces us that we're being set up for a greater fall. Anxiety. Disquiet. Bother. Vexation. Perturbation. You pick the word. I'll fill the bill.

Years ago we had a dog named Jingles. Jingles was a dachshund-chihuahua mix. He was a nervous little guy. He was only really happy when everybody was home. Now, he didn't really like any of us but he wanted us home. Eventually, his canine psychic powers got so great that he could just sense when he was about to be left behind. One time, my wife, Jessica, was just thinking...thinking!...about taking the kids to a park. She hadn't gotten anyone's jacket or, for that matter, even left the kitchen yet that morning. Jingles knew something was up. He walked over to her and left a warm little "commentary" on her bare foot. In some ways I'm like Jingles. No, I don't do anything like the aforementioned protest and it's not so much fearing being alone. I just like to have everyone in one place...safe and sound. That made Saturday night a problem for me.

Our daughter, Samantha, was gone all day at a forensics event...home long enough to wolf down one of my almost-award-winning pigs-in-a-blanket...then off to babysit. She does this just a few houses away but I still am concerned. She's great at the job and it's terrific that she is earning some moolah but couldn't she just do it over the phone from her bedroom?

Meanwhile, Alexander was in Lawrence, Kansas. There was this basketball game going on Saturday night, down in Texas...near the Alamo. Apparently, Davy Crockett was a great power forward. Anyway, Alex watched the game with a pile of friends and then headed down to the party on Massachusetts Street. He texted his mother about the celebration. All I could think of was how our little boy would make it back to his room in the midst of all the hullabaloo. I love that word. Sounds like the answer to a Carnac routine: "Where does a British hullaba go to the bathroom?" Linguistic frivolity aside, I was hoping Alex left bread-crumbs so he could get home.

Then, along came Taylor or, more accurately, along went Taylor. (My apologies to Mrs. Davidson, my junior high English teacher for that last sentence and for, sometimes, calling her Mrs. Harley-Davidson, under by breath, usually, when she handed back my exams.) Taylor actually did the most to give me Saturday Night Hives. He, too, was at forensics all day. Not long after he got home, after his second long shower of the day...does he think he's a character in Silkwood?...he left, in my car, headed for a friend's house. He was at that house from around 4:00 p.m. until midnight then went to the After-Prom Party at the high school. It is true that his friend's parents were also there as chaperones and that the whole purpose of the event was to keep kids safe on a big party night, still, I was uneasy. The party at the school went until 4:00 a.m. Four In The Morning! I don't think I have ever stayed out until four in the morning! It seems to me that bad things happen when you're up that late. To his credit, Taylor came home right on time. He was fine. The car was fine. He had a laundry basket full of t-shirts and Nerf toys he'd won in a raffle.

By the way, Harrison, the youngest had been outdoors in the neighborhood all day but stayed in to watch basketball in the evening. He was within grabbing distance the whole night. He will get good birthday presents.

Samantha was home by 11:30 p.m. Alexander texted again later when he was back in his hall. Taylor was in bed and snoring by 4:20 a.m. (By the way, our current dog, Casey, who is as laid back as Jingles was hyper didn't wake up through any of the comings and goings. His dog blood pressure is one over two...when awake.) Finally, around 4:30 a.m. I settled down. At 4:45 my wife's alarm rang and she bounded out of bed to run in the 44 Mile Brew-to-Brew Relay from Kansas City to Lawrence. It benefits the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. Well, I was up again and, you guessed it, worried. She'd be running in the middle of nowhere! For at least ten miles! Sure, she's done this event many times in the past and I worried about everyone of them. We also serve who sit and stew!

I know the old saying: Most of the things you worry about never happen. That just makes me worry that I'm worrying about the wrong things. I was raised to worry. I'm good at it and I intend to pursue it. I have so few talents, I may as well embrace this one. Good Old Charlie Brown put it best: I have a new philosophy. I now only dread one day at a time.

If I'd called my mom, on Tuesday, and said "Happy April Fool's Day!" She would have said "Don't be silly. This isn't your birthday." Same thing for Thanksgiving, if I call and say "Happy Turkey Day!"

Truth be told, I'm not a big fan of April Fool's Day and the tradition of teasing and telling tales. Much the same way Halloween can be considered permission to beg from door-to-door, April Fool's Day seems to sanction telling fibs. Now, being in the weather business, I'm not opposed to stretching the truth. Who am I kidding? Stretching? How about totally snapping!? But, I get too nervous about April Fool's stuff.

When you have four kids and dogs, you are always waiting for the next toilet to overflow and turn your living room into a version of The Dancing Waters. Or, that call that goes like this: "Yeah, dad, how bad is it to put diesel gas in the car?" So, when you live in a nearly-constant state of disaster-waiting-happen, it's just not funny to get a call from your wife saying "Hello, dear. You know how you're always saying 'Remember to open the garage door before you back out' and we all laugh at you? Well, I forgot to open the door. The door is a mess and the back of the van is all banged up. And, worst of all, I can't get the door to go up or down...I'm stuck." As my wife is telling me all this, I'm adding up the car insurance and home-owner's insurance deductibles and wondering which meals we won't be having for the next month or so. Then, she says "April Fools." Nice.

Folks on TV and radio, as well as in the newspaper business, sometimes make up elaborate hoaxes. Like the one we mentioned on FirstNews Tuesday morning, about a paper that created an entire front page of false information. In this cynical age, it may seem redundant to think the info we're getting from all these sources is any more truthful the other 364 days of the year. Often, on-air pranks lead to off-air firings. I've always felt that my best broadcasting-related joke is getting a paycheck every couple of weeks.

The origins of this day of so-called fun are murky. Some say it goes back to Scotland when folks would use this time of the year to go gowk hunting. A gowk was like a cuckoo. Calling someone a gowk was like calling someone an idiot. It explains why the red-crested gowk is on the Nichols Family Crest. A wild gowk hunt sounds a little like what my brothers used to do to me years ago. They'd send my out on a snipe hunt. Imagine their surprise when I cam home with an eight-foot snipe.

The French also claim credit for this jokey day. Apparently, some in that country thought it was hilarious to put dead fish on the backs of friends. Fifty million Frenchmen can't be wrong but they can be smelly...and scaly.

I was a little distracted about April Fool's Day this year, anyway. It goes back to something that happened over the weekend. I was waiting in line at the grocery store with my little basket of Oreos, cheese curds and chocolate milk. A woman behind me started to whisper in my ear. No, not sweet nothings. She was hissing "I want those cookies. You took my cookies!" This woman was, I would guess, in her late 70s but very spry. I told her, very politely, to keep her hands off my cookies. (Insert your own joke, here.) She actually stated grabbing for them! I was pushing her away...as gently as possible...when she shoved me into the candy rack. I lunged for the cookies and held them close to my chest. She started yanking on my arms and bending my fingers back from the package! Then, out of nowhere, this elderly super-hero dropped to the ground and latched onto my left leg! This woman was determined! This woman was angry! This woman was pulling my leg!

Just like I'm pulling yours.

See?

Don't you hate April Fool's Day?