My standard KP disclaimer:

I know Disney owns "Kim Possible"...lock, stock, and Rufus.

If they want to sue me, they have to get behind all my other creditors.

Since I am in south Florida, the line has formed to the right

…and goes all the way to Sacramento!

If a name has an ®, I own it. If it doesn't, I don't!

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Opening notes:

1) Well, folks…this is the eighth story in the 'ch-RON-icles' group, and my 50th overall chapter and 20th overall story on the FanFiction site. I was about to close out this group after 'Be the Tea'. However, a Plot-Zilla® I thought I banished has come back to haunt the village of my mind.

2) In my ending notes, I always include the following sentence, "The production of this story, like that for any work of fiction, is solely dependent upon the constructive feedback of its readers." Folks, those are NOT just words of idle 'lip-service'. This tale is evidence of how serious I take that statement.

With 'A Taste of Talent' and 'American Dream', I wrote about the bond Ron shares with his mother. One of the reviews suggested a further exploration of Ron's relationship with his father. While I did venture a bit into that with 'Uncle David', I thought it needed to go a little deeper here.

If you like it, please send a review. If not, blame the reviewer who suggested this…It's all his fault!

3) As the 'ch-RON-icles' group has progressed, I have been seeing different ways to loosely tie some of these stories together. 'Uncle David' proved to lead into 'American Dream' and 'The Mole Rat Cometh' naturally progressed into 'Be the Tea', to cite a few examples. In these chapters, I will blend in little bits and pieces from all of them. Let's see if you have been paying attention to the references as we sit back and…

Enjoy the show!

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'ch-RON-icles: The Great One-Half'

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Chapter One: 'Nebraska Johnson and the Kickers of Ice'

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For Tom Buckley…

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…The attic is a treasure trove for many families. It is a place where so many memories are stored for all time, to be passed from one generation to the next. It is also a place where mementos from different eras share space with each other. For example, a wedding dress can share an armoire with a 1983 state championship trophy for 'Individual Debate', a children's cookbook, and a black graduation cap and gown. In another box, a pair of skates and a hockey stick, each adorned with faded handwriting, along with a plaque honoring the 'Most Valuable Player' of the 1979 Colorado Junior Hockey League championship, can sit with a green mortarboard (with matching tassel) and a Insta-Pic® photograph of a pre-teen boy with several legends of rock music.

All these wonders, and so much more, made for days of fun (for hours on end) for one ten-year-old boy in particular…

Ron Stoppable.

He loved the time he spent with his auburn-haired best friend, Kim, as they combed through the contents of the attic. The two of them were big fans of the movie exploits of archaeologist Nebraska Johnson®. Ron was a bigger fan of digging through the 'ruins', while Kim got the most enjoyment from dodging the piles of items as the digging caused them to weaken and fall.

The discovery of the wedding dress made Kim squeal with delight. Sure, she was a 'spirited' child, already beginning to find her gymnastic prowess and earn black belts in several disciplines of martial arts. Even with those talents, she was still a little girl, with all the dreams of having a big wedding some day. Her mind was floating with a vision of wearing a dress almost like the one she held, with her daddy leading her down the aisle and into arms of…Ron?...screaming that his mommy will kill him?

The straw-haired boy's hands quickly brought Kim back to reality as he snatched the dress from her and returned it to the armoire. He babbled something about his fear of facing death at the hands of his mother for them finding it. Still, an extremely small voice inside his head cheered at the sight of Kim holding such a garment, voicing its hope for seeing a similar situation in the distant future…

Once he placed the gown back on its normal rack, he tripped over a box and fell flat on his face with a resounding "OW!"

Kim rushed over to her fallen comrade and called out, "Ron! Are you OK?"

Ron rubbed his head and flashed his trademark goofy grin. "You know me, Kim…Hardest head in the Wes—Whoa!" He pointed to the contents of the box he destroyed. "What's all this stuff?"

Kim joined Ron in the exploration of the contents, each making comments as they encountered each new item. "Let's see…" Kim began. "…a green cap with a tassel that says 'CSU 86'…"

Ron observed, "Must be from when Dad went to college. Wow, KP! Check this out…a picture of some kid with that rock group 'King' on a tour with 'Smooch' and 'The Thankful Zombies®'…He looks kinda like…"

Both gasped at once, "…No WAY!!"

Kim quickly chimed, "Jinx…You owe me a soda!"

Ron groaned, "I swear…I'll have to invent something fabulous and make 99 million dollars to pay for all the sodas I owe you!"

Kim playfully scoffed, "Ron…It's not that bad! Although…if anyone had the potential to do that, I'd bet it would be you."

Ron laughed, "Thanks for the pep talk, but I really think…Cool! Check this out. It's a pair of skates and a stick…like the ones those players use when they try slapping around the old hockey ball."

Kim corrected her friend, "You mean puck…a hockey puck."

Ron waved his hands in front of him to stop her words. "One sport at a time, Kim. Hey…it looks like my dad had some mad hockey skills in his day. This says he was the MVP of some 'Under 18' tournament."

"Yes…yes I was!" boomed another voice, much deeper than Kim's. She and Ron turned their heads to find his father, Donald, standing nearby, with a bemused look on his face.

A sheepish grin accompanied Ron's next words. "Heh-heh…Hi, Dad. We were just playing 'Nebraska Johnson®' up here. We weren't going to break anything…honest!"

A low chuckle erupted from Donald. "Of course, son. I remember when I received those skates and the stick. A few years before you were born, I was one of the instructors at a junior hockey camp. Did you know I began my studies at Colorado State on a hockey scholarship? In fact, I could have played in the pros had it not been for Hans Magnussen!"

Spellbound by his father's recollection, Ron begged the question, "Who's Hans Magnussen?"

Donald's face grew stern as he responded, "He was the dirtiest player in the history of Colorado Buffaloes hockey. During my junior season, our annual cross-state game against Colorado was in Boulder. We were tied 2-2, with less than a minute to play in the game. Since I scored both of our goals up to that point, the center passed the puck to me…"

Kim playfully slugged Ron's arm and gloated, "Told you it was a puck, not a ball!"

Ron hushed his friend and half-scolded, "KP…Let the man talk."

Donald continued, "I had a breakaway down the center of the ice. Only the goalie stood between me and a 'hat trick'...that's what they call scoring a third goal in the same game, son. More importantly, it would have probably clinched the game for us…

"In a full sprint coming off the bench…BOOM! Hans hit me from behind. He used the blade of his stick to shatter my left knee. He then used the knobbed top of the stick to knock my head for a loop." He sighed as his mouth began to form a wistful smile. "You know…I never did thank him properly for giving me one of the greatest moments of my life!"

The eyes of both children grew wide with astonishment. Kim gaped, "Thank him? Just how was a goon nearly beating you senseless such a great moment in your life?"

Ron nodded in agreement. "Look, Dad…You know I don't mean to 'dis' you, but with the things you said he did to you…"

They asked in unison, "Are you NUTS??"

Donald could not resist the opening. "Jinx…you both owe me a soda!"

Ron and Kim both winced as he explained his choice of words. "You see…If it weren't for his actions, I would not have been helped off the ice and treated by a certain Colorado sophomore who assisted the trainers as part of a 'work-study' program. She took pity on my plight and kept visiting me throughout my entire recovery. While I could never play at 'full-speed' again after that incident, she and I went out for dinner on the day I was able to walk normally once more."

His smile grew bigger as he revealed, "That was officially our 'first date'…and Jeannie and I have been together ever since."

Kim's eyes glazed as she cooed, "That's sooo romantic. Weird, but romantic."

Ron began scratching his head as he reasoned, "Okay, Dad. Since all of Mom's family went to Colorado, and all your folks, except Uncle David, went to Colorado State, that would explain why they never join us for Yom Kippur feast…or the Passover Seder…or anything else, come to think of it...But what does that have to do with the hockey gear?"

Donald answered, "Because of my injury, I was forced to help the team with their drills and assist the coaching staff in order to keep my scholarship for the rest of that season. I enjoyed coaching, and became a graduate assistant in my last year at CSU. For 'RamCamp88', I and a few other CSU alumni players joined a group of seasoned professionals to teach hockey fundamentals to kids from 5-15…

"Another instructor needed help with preparing his income tax forms. You see, he was a Canadian citizen who had just married an American woman and moved to Los Angeles. This meant he had to fill out a California state tax form in addition to those for both US and Canadian federal governments. In exchange for helping him with his tax issues, he autographed a stick and the inner lining of a pair of skates we used at the camp and gave them to me. We still keep in touch once in a while, whenever he is in town."

A gleam formed in Donald's eye as he squarely faced Ron. "I just hope my…what did you call them…'mad hockey skills'…run in the family. Your mother and I just finished talking before I came up here; and she agreed with my idea to let you play for the 'U-12'."

Ron didn't quite catch on to the jargon and asked, "The 'U-12'? Does that mean I get to jam with Jono®?"

Donald shook his head. "Not 'U-II®', Ronald…'U-12' means the 'Under 12' youth hockey team at the Middleton Ice Complex."

Kim recognized the location immediately. "Hey, that's right next to my martial arts dojo." She rubbed her temple in recollection. "Mr. Stoppable, those junior teams…aren't they the 'Ice Kickers'?"

Donald beamed with pride. "That's right, Kimberly…my old junior hockey team. I even suggested the name and our battle cry. It was a lot better than that waterfowl mascot we had the year before."

All three of them snickered at the notion of duck being taken seriously on a frozen sheet of ice. A serene pond in the summertime, perhaps…but certainly not an ice rink.

Donald then clarified, "Actually, I was part of the 'Under-18' travelling team who took the state title; but all of the teams at the complex compete as 'Ice Kickers®', regardless of age group."

The gleam returned to Donald's eyes as he declared, "Son, I think it's time for a second generation of Stoppables to…"

All three of them triumphantly shouted, "…KICK SOME ICE!!"

A voice drifted up from below the trio. "Jinx…all of you owe me a soda!"

Ron quickly whined, "MOM! Not you, too!" While his father and Kim began to climb down from the attic, Ron then muttered in the direction of his imaginary friend, "First, it was the 99 million dollars to pay Kim's tab. What will I have to do in order to pay off my 'rents?"

He allowed a long pause to hear the response from the towering figment of his thoughts before he crinkled his face and countered, "Rufus, I really liked his book and everything…but why would Martin Smarty hire me to work for him, anyway?"

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Next Week...Chapter Two: 'Skating On Thin Ice'

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Author's ending notes:

The production of this story, like that for any work of fiction, is solely dependent upon the constructive feedback of its readers. If you like it, I will gladly make more. If you think of ways to make it better, I am always open to suggestions. If you really think it's a piece of garbage, stop me before I strike again!!

Once more, Review me, e-mail me if you wanna reach me! When you want to 'PM' me, it's ok!

Your friend in writing,

The Samurai Crunchbird®