The (Almost) Forgotten Legend of Johnny Bag of Doughnuts

One night a couple of weeks ago as Jude and I were going through our bedtime routines, J.P. turned to me as we was getting into bed and said, "Daddy, tell me a story."  I paused, smiled and my heart skipped a beat at those magic words spoken by my 8 year old son.

And thus, for one night, Johnny Bag of Doughnuts was back in our lives.

There was a time - a lifetime ago, it seems - when I used to lay on the floor and tell J.P. a story every night after he climbed into bed.  It was a special part of the day for me, for sure.  The very best part of my day, really.  It was a time to unwind and spend a few minutes alone with my son, and to leave the ups and downs of a busy day far behind me.  It was a time to engage his imagination and mine, to make up elaborate stories on the fly or sometimes to continue a story from the night before, as he lay on the edge of his bed, facing me and listening raptly.

The main character of each and every story?  Johnny Bag of Doughnuts, J.P's alter ego I created after an early dalliance with another character named Johnny Pasta.  Generally, the stories centered around some recent activity or event of particular interest to him - the State Fair, the Winter Olympics, Belmont Basketball, the Lakers, the Predators, etc. - with Johnny Bag of Doughnuts playing the starring role in the story.  

Through his nightly exploits as Johnny Bag of Doughnuts, J.P. saved the State Fair (probably his all-time favorite); grew giant pumpkins in the front yard of our house on Elliott Avenue; played drums and sang with the Avett Brothers at a street fair in front of Bongo Java; rode in a sled on snow 10 feet high from our house to Bongo Java and back again; welcomed all of the Nashville Predators as they got off the team bus at Bongo Java and showed Pekka Rinne, Martin Erat and Shea Weber how to his "stomp rocket" worked  on the Belmont U. soccer field; drove a 4-man bobsled in the Winter Olympics (with E.J., Adam and George from Bongo Java) watching in person and cheering him on; played basketball with Kobe Bryant (many, many times) as a fill-in for an injured or sick player; dunked on Zach Randolph while playing for the Lakers at a game in Memphis (he loved Zach Randolph's reaction when he dunked on him so much that Zach appeared in multiple stories that had nothing to do with basketball); played hockey for Nashville Predators; practiced hockey with the Nashville Predators at a hockey rink underneath our house that you got to through the basement; scored multiple touchdowns for the Tennessee Titans; and played basketball for Rick Byrd (Belmont) or Kevin Stallings (Vanderbilt), often with Jack McDaniel or another friend from Children's House.

And on and on it went.  On nights when I was really on my game and my imagination was running in fifth gear, J.P. would yell "NO! NO!" when I stopped in the middle of a 2, 3 or 4 part story right at a climactic moment and said, "to be continued."  The next night, we would be back at it, as he insisted on a "recap" to catch us up to where we were ended the previous night before I continued with whatever tale I was telling.

We shared that time together, every night, J.P. and I.  I knew it was special at the time and I sure as hell know, now, that it was special then.  I miss the innocence of those nights spent together, right before I kissed him good night and he drifted off to sleep.  I miss my life a bit from those days, too, when things seemed less complicated.

Here's to you, Johnny Bag of Doughnuts, gone but certainly not forgotten.