Happy Holidays

It’s been a while since I’ve updated this, but it is a hectic time of year. I’m sure that’s no different than anyone else, but it is a good reason for me.

There are the holidays of course, but there are birthdays as well. Two of my kids and two of my grandkids were born in December, and there are 4 birthdays next month, including my own.

On a sadder note, my grandfather died right before Christmas one year, and my grandmother died just after the New Year’s Day another year. Those were many years ago, but they still add a somber memories to the all the festivities.

Then there are the bittersweet memories, both good and bad, Christmases in the past.

Add this all together and there is such a hodge podge of feelings, emotions and activities during this time of year, and there is really no way around it. And then, in the midst of it all, I realize that I’m no different than anybody else. We all have a ton of things going on now.

The bottom line is, I’ll update with something a little more meaty later, in the meantime, have a very Merry Christmas and a great New Year.

Oh, and this coming year is the one where most of us turn 60! Sorry to make you frown.

Highways and Byways

One of the drawbacks of getting older is that I can’t drive for hours on end the way I used to. I could drive all day and it would not bother me at all. Over the years, I have found a lot of roads that I love to drive.


Old Route 66 from the Texas Panhandle to California is a world of its own. There’s nothing wrong with the eastern half of the road, it’s just too “tame”. It’s changed a lot now (an issue common to most of these roads) as Interstate 40 has replaced it in most areas, but that road still beckons. I bet I’ve driven it a dozen times or more and I would drive it again at the drop of a hat. From the Petrified Forest to the cool, sweet smelling pines around Flagstaff, AZ and on to the flat upper dessert of Arizona and California, it’s a gorgeous stretch of road.

In California, just below Cajon Pass, Route 138 crosses Interstate 15. From there to the Pearblossom Highway, about 20 miles away, the drive west along 138 is terrific. Just off the Interstate are the Mormon Rocks that bring images of old TV westerns to mind. You almost expect to see the Lone Ranger and Tonto at any given moment. A half dozen miles further, the road climbs up to the Angeles Crest Highway (18) and then it’s a long swooping curve down to the valley floor of the high desert. A few miles further along you get to what we used to call the “Washboard” as the road crosses the ups and downs of broad gullies the rains have made coming down off the mountains. This is about 5 miles of roller coaster driving at its best.  With any decent speed you car will leave ground.

Next is Highway 1 from Carmel down along the coast to San Luis Obispo. Either direction is a good drive but I prefer driving south because it puts you along the edge of the cliffs. Great drive, great scenery.

Just north of Carmel, Highway 68 turns west off Highway 1 and goes into Monterey and Pacific Grove. It’s a short drive, no more than 5 miles, but I drove it every day for almost 5 years and loved it. It is curvy enough to get your attention and the view out over the woods and ocean is unbeatable.

The next stretch is a little east of there. Highway 156 and 152 from San Juan Batista up over the mountains through Pacheco Pass to Los Banos. A very good road with lots of curves and scenery.

The next one is Interstate 80 from Sacramento, CA to Rawlins, WY. I would mention a highway here instead of an Interstate, but I didn’t get to this one before they completed the interstate. There are mountains, deserts, salt flats --- you name it and it’s here. Some places look so bleak and desolate, but then you’ll see something a few more miles down the road that takes your breath away. The highlight for me is from Salt Lake City up into Wyoming. It feels a little odd to be going over the same road the wagon trains took in the 1800s.

Then there is Interstate 81 through the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. Very pretty and very green. If you’re going north get off at Winchester and take 522 north into Pennsylvania.  When you get near Hancock. MD, you can almost through a rock from Virginia into Pennsylvania, bypassing Maryland altogether.

If you were like me and thought of New York City whenever you heard the mention of New York, you will be very surprised at just how pretty the state really is. The drive from Interstate 88 to Cooperstown is so green and lush that it will make you want to move there.

Next is Highway 61 going up the west side of the Ashley River out of Charleston, SC. There is a stretch of a few where the oak trees overhang the road and it’s almost like driving through a living tunnel. Even on the brightest, hottest days, it is so cool and shady under those trees. Hurricane Hugo did some damage to them in 1989, but they’re still there and still shady.

And last but not least is the road I cut my driving teeth on. I used to love driving old Highway 72, either down toward Stockton Valley or the other direction toward Vonore. There were lots of places where the curves were a bit sharp but not so sharp you couldn’t keep up a good rate of speed. The new 72, which I guess isn’t so new anymore, has nowhere near the character of the old road. I know there are still stretches of it that are used, but it’s not the same.

Okay, that’s enough. I’m going to go drive around awhile.

My Version of the Outsiders

I can’t remember the first time I smoked. I obviously was trying to be “grown up”. I do remember taking some of my lawn mowing money and buying cigarettes when I was 12 or 13. I also remember buying them from Mr. Lawson’s store, near the Junior High School, for 2 cents apiece.


By the time I entered high school I was an old hand at it, and so were a lot of others. During any given school day, between classes and at lunch time, there were a few dozen people heading for the smoking areas.

Most of them were guys. Occasionally there were a 2 or 3 girls out there, but they were way outnumbered. They also seemed to have their own cigarettes, which was not a trait of some of the guys. There always seemed to be 2 or 3 guys at each smoking break who didn’t have any cigarettes.

I understand the some folks viewed the smokers as “hoodlums”, or at least that was a word I heard bandied about, but there were some good people out there. Wayne McNabb, the best friend I’ve had in my whole life was one of them. He wasn’t a hoodlum. Scott Thornburg was a smoker and was later killed in Vietnam. He wasn’t a hoodlum. Danny Thornburg and Billy Wilson did their time in Vietnam. They weren’t hoodlums. Estes Queener, Jabbo Lynn, Allen McNabb, Steve Knox; each one a good guy, and neither was a hoodlum.

Besides, there were other smokers. You couldn’t be a smoker without bumping into some of the “closet smokers” from time to time. Some of the jocks and the “brainy” kids (I think now they’re called nerds), and even some of the “regular” people, lit one up every now and again. They just didn’t want to be seen outside between classes because it might tarnish their reputation, or in the jocks case, get them kicked off the team.

Later, after I joined the military I learned how to “field strip” a cigarette butt and learn terms like, “smoke ‘em if you got ‘em”, but smoking didn’t have the same pleasure it carried in high school. As an adult, you could smoke at your desk or almost anyplace else, so it became an individual thing. On the back balcony of the high school, there was a camaraderie that went along with it.

I actually miss it sometimes. Even the cigarette bums.

Comfortable Memories

As we age, we usually reach a point where smaller, simpler things take on more meaning. They are things that comfort our mind and our body and sometimes, even our soul.

For me, there’s the 20 odd year old recliner that fits me to a tee, cushioning my head and just the right length for my feet; or the tee shirt that serves as my night shirt most of the time – it’s worn and stretched and has a few small holes, and it’s comfortable beyond believe; or the cloth lined leather moccasins that I wear around the house to keep my feet warm during the winter.

Each one is simple and each one is priceless.

Also among these comfortable things I rely on so much are my memories. They are nestled in my sub conscientious, ready to spring out at a moment’s notice. Anything can be a catalyst to bring them rushing back; a picture, a song, a place, a person, or even a smell.

They’re a favorite toy I play with sometimes. I hold them up, turning them this way and that, relishing the warmth they bring me.

I think we’re all like that – treasuring those little pieces of our past. Obviously, the good memories are the best, but after a time even a bad memory has its place there too. It may not be something to make us smile; on the contrary, some of them will bring back tears even years after they happened, but we remember how we dealt with them, fought with them and lived through them, and that part makes it a good memory.

They all become so fixed in our minds that we know they happened just the way we remember. Why wouldn’t they? We have carried them so long that we have it all memorized to a tee. Or do we?

One day we might meet up with someone, or be in a situation that makes us look them over again, only a little more closely this time. Could it be possible that after all this time we might be wrong?

Facebook can provide such a situation. We run into old friends and family members that we haven’t seen in ages and we rush to say hello, thinking they might be just as excited to see us as we are to see them; and just as eager about sharing those old memories. Well, they will, won’t they?

Maybe, maybe not.

They may remember us, but it's almost a sure bet they don’t remember things exactly the same way we do. Or maybe they don’t remember us at all. If that’s the case, forget about talking over old memories.

So what do we do? The only thing we can do is accept it. Just as our lives have been different, so have our memories. Our memories are from our perspective, not theirs, so the memories will be different. That doesn’t necessarily make them wrong, and it certainly doesn’t make them any less special. We may have to alter or patch a few, but hey, we’ve been altering and patching things in our lives almost daily.

Besides, talking them over can breathe a new life into some of them and strengthen the bond between us and our old companions, and that can only be a good thing.

How Do We Keep Up?

You know what is the toughest part about getting older? The things we didn't see coming. I expect the grey hair, wrinkles, middle aged spread (or more), crankiness, the snap, crackle and pop of my joints sometime when I move, the running out of steam quicker, and other things along these lines. What I have real issues with are the things I thought were at least semi-permanent. Like these:


It’s okay to spank your kid’s backside if he needs it.
Nope. Not anymore. You’ll ruin his self-esteem and you may end up in jail.

Sugar is bad, bad, bad. We’re taking it out of everything.
Nope. Not anymore. High Fructose Corn Syrup is worse, so we’re putting real sugar back in.

Kids need both a mother and a father figure when they’re growing up.
Nope. Not anymore. Same sex couples can now raise kids as well as a Mom and Pop.

Start a savings account at the bank early and grow your nest egg so you’ll have it when you need it.
Nope. Not anymore. Buy whatever you want with a credit card, or get a home loan with no money down. It’s safe.

The only way you can get tainted food is if you didn’t use it right away or you did not cook or store it properly.
Nope. Now you can get tainted meat and eggs and even fruit and vegetables right at the store.

American products were the best because they were made right here at home with pride and good ol’ American know how.
Nope. Not anymore. If the jobs haven’t already gone overseas they may soon get sent over there and pride and good ol’ American know how have been replaced by keeping the stock holders happy.

Before each school year, we used to go shopping for new “school clothes”. We wanted to look nice and besides, we had a dress code.
Nope. Not anymore. The boy’s clothes can’t get much looser and the girls’ clothes can’t get much tighter, and who cares what you look like when you go to school anyway?

We would run and play from early morning to well past dusk with usually nothing more than a pair of cutoff jeans on.
Nope. Not anymore. Now there are elbow guards, knee guards, helmets, running shoes, hiking shoes and climbing boots.

We could cover the whole town when we were out. Nobody said a word.
Nope. Not anymore. Now strangers who talk to kids may do more than just talk.

Just the idea of being sent to the office if you messed up, even when you were older, was enough to get your attention, even if you were macho and acted like it was no big deal. It was a big deal to your school, your parents or both.
Nope. Not anymore. Now they have cops assigned to the schools. Some folks say it’s in case something bad happens at the school but it still makes you wonder.

Okay, so the times are a-changing and we should change along with them, but sometimes change gets harder as you get older.

It’s hard to believe, but it’s been a year since the reunion. Wow. Time flies, huh? At this rate 45 is going to be here before you know it.

I am pleased to announce that we are all still here, but there have been no new ones added to the email list. I guess in a way, Facebook has taken care of that part, and that is a good thing. One less thing for one of us to keep track of.
We still need to look around and find as many of the others as possible; it’s never too early to start.

I’ve heard that Nancy Rowe is in LA, or somewhere near, and Joe Evans and Peggy Dunkin are in Sweetwater. We need to find a way to throw contact them. Wouldn’t it be great if we got everyone to the 50th?

It could happen.

A Bit Backward

Sue and I were married in 1985. We had a 3 day “honeymoon” before combining our homes into one. That included Douglas and Michael.

Now, twenty six and a half years later, we find ourselves alone. Most married couples have at least a few years before the kids start showing up, but we did it backward. To say it is odd to only hear one other set of footsteps in the house would be an understatement.

The other night I heard noises that sounded like the garage door going up. At first, I thought nothing of it but when I heard it again, it occurred to me that no one should be coming through the garage door. Sue and I were both upstairs. So I went down to investigate and discovered it was a plastic cup that was bouncing around inside the dishwasher, but I was so conditioned to hearing the kids come and go that I didn’t think anything of the noise the first time I heard it.

I’m also rediscovering things about Sue; things like what foods she likes best, which movies make her laugh or cry and that she actually likes to sleep in a bit on Saturday mornings. These are all things I’ve always known, or did at one time. It’s just that over the years we geared ourselves more toward what the kids like and a little less about what we like.

For example, one night a couple of weeks ago we made dinner out of a tomato (Christopher doesn’t like), chicken salad (Sarah doesn’t like), cottage cheese (Sarah doesn’t like), crackers and a small bottle of wine (neither of them like). And you know what? It was one of the best meals I’ve had in years. I loved every bit of it. We sat there munching and chatting about our day, what we had planned for the rest of the week, and just things in general. It was great, two adults having a conversation over dinner.

So, we may have had the cart before the horse so to speak, but something tells me we will make out all right.

I'll Try Anything Once

Sometimes circumstances force you to try things you wouldn’t normally try.  One such instance for me was in the pre-internet days of the very early 80s.  As a single parent, I felt Douglas deserved as much of my attention as I could give him.  I did it willingly and I have no regrets.  However, it did limit the opportunity I had for dating, plus some of the ones I did meet were convinced I was looking for a substitute mother for my son, even though I wasn’t. 

In that area of the coast, there were a handful of singles newspapers since there were a lot of others like me, whose job or other responsibilities put limits on them as well.  I would look at this freebie that came in the mail a couple of times a month and sometimes I would scan the ads.  They were mostly men seeking woman so there really wasn’t many I could choose from, and I doubt if I would have called any of them anyway.

Well, the day came that I decided to take the plunge.  Doug had gone to stay with his Mom for the summer, and I was free to give it a try.  The first thing I decided to do was to get the “lay of the land” so to speak so I called one of the ads in the paper.  I quickly informed the guy who answered that I was not interested in his ad other than to know if he got much response from it.  He told me he got about a dozen calls which were more than enough for me.  The result, at least to me, was almost a comedy of errors.

I forget exactly how I worded the ad.  Something like, ‘30yo single father, smoker, wanting to meet ladies 25-35 for friendship and possible relationship.’  I wanted them to know up front that I was a single parent, that I smoked and that I wasn’t looking for a mother for my son.  I have no idea why I chose the age range other than I wanted to limit it somehow.

I immediately started getting calls the day the ad was printed.  My first call was from a guy.  I started to hang up, but he asked me to hear him out.  He said he was the manager for one of the savings and loan offices in town and gave me the business name, his name, phone number, everything he said I would need to verify that he was who he said he was.  Then it got really strange.  He said he had married his secretary and there was a big age difference, and at his age he was having “some issues”, so he was always on the lookout for other men for her and would watch, join in or leave.  I quickly said something like “Thanks, but no thanks”, and hung up.  That was not an auspicious beginning.

The next caller was actually very nice.  We talked a few minutes and set up a time to meet at a sandwich shop and chat.  I ended up dating her a few times.

The next caller was also very nice.  She was in the Army, had two little girls, and was separated from her husband.  We talked for almost an hour and seemed to have several things in common.  Then it dawned on me that she was black.  I said something about that and she said, “Yes I am, but you didn’t say anything about race in your ad.”  And she was right, I hadn’t.  It had never occurred to me.  So, we kept talking and I ended up going to her home a couple of times.  She was right, race didn’t matter, and besides, it was kind of cute to sit there chatting with her as two little girls peaked at me from around the corner and giggled.

I think it was the next day before I got another call.  This one was very talkative and pretty much controlled the conversation.  I remember at one point getting in a few questions of my own.  One of them was, “Are you married?”  She said she was separated.  I then asked how long she had been separated and she said, “I left him this morning”!  That was the end of that conversation.

The next one was a Filipino lady who made it obvious that she was a marriage broker and looking for suitable grooms for ladies who were wanting to come to the states to get married.  I told her I wasn’t interested, and she said, “But you put out the ad”.  I said that wasn’t for marriage.  She said, “Why?  You don’t like Filipino girls?”  I told her I had nothing against Filipino girls, but I was about to get involved with any woman sight unseen, and I hung up.

Along about this time I started realizing that this wasn’t what I thought it would be.  It was almost like doing a job interview.  I would ask them questions and they would give me answers.  I don’t really remember them asking me very many questions.

One of the next ones seemed okay over the phone and we made a date for me to drop by her place the next afternoon after work.  Her parting comment on the phone was, “Bring some beer.”   It sounded a bit odd, but what the heck, maybe she was planning a cook out.  So I stopped by, she stashed the beer in the fridge and then walked to the door and told guys they couldn’t come over now, “I got company.”  I let her keep the beer.

One of the next ones was probably the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life, even now.  She said her Mom was French and her Dad was Jamaican (or Haitian, I can’t remember) and she was just gorgeous; dark hair, with almond eyes and an olive complexion.  But she was at the low end of my age range and we had nothing in common.  She knew it and I did too.  Darn it!

The next one was a little tipsy.  She confessed she was 38 – above my age range – and it took a couple of glasses of wine to build up the nerve to call.  We talked a long time and she was interesting, but nothing became of it.

By this time, I was tired of the whole thing.  It wasn’t fun for either me or most of them, so the next one that called I said I wasn’t taking any more calls.  The position was filled, or something like that.  It wasn’t but that’s what I told her anyway.  The funny thing was, when I told her that I thought I detected relieve in her voice.  I guess from some of them it was an ordeal to call, not knowing what they were getting into any more than I did.

But I did get a couple of friends out of it, so it wasn’t totally a waste of time.  The nice lady who called right after the pervert and the black lady with the two little girls, turned out to be at least people I could talk to when I wanted to hear an adult voice, so all was not lost.

40+1

Well, it’s been a year since the reunion. Do you still catch yourself thinking about it at times? It was a lot of fun and so great to see so many people. I know it’s a long time until the next one, if we have one in five years, but I hope it will be as much fun. The football game was a great idea and the low key dinner was good too. It gave people a chance to talk and catch up. Besides, we are not all the partiers we once were.

It’s kind of a cop out to writing a full piece, but there has been a song on my mind lately that I thought I might emphasize. I think most folks feel it’s aimed at kids, I know when I first heard it I thought of my grandkids, but then I looked at it from our perspective and dang if it doesn’t work that way too. Give it a read (or better yet, if you’ve got it on your iPod or something, listen to it) and think about it from the perspective of someone aging.

I Hope You Dance

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted,
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed,

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.

I hope you dance....I hope you dance.

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Livin' might mean takin' chances but they're worth takin',
Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth makin',

Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to sellin' out reconsider,
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.

I hope you dance....I hope you dance.
I hope you dance....I hope you dance.
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along,
Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone.)

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.

Dance....I hope you dance.
I hope you dance....I hope you dance.
I hope you dance....I hope you dance..
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along
Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone)

My Empty Nest

Sunday we will load up Sarah’s stuff and drive her off to college. She is so excited, and a little scared, about it. She has been so active the past couple of months, as if she’s trying to do as many things in as she possibly can before going away.

I’m proud of her and excited for her. Her brothers and sister have all done well and I have no doubt she will too. A few years ago, she seemed to have settled on becoming an orthodontist, but then last year she started talking about being an editor for some kind of magazine and then over the past 6 months or so she talks about being a teacher. I know she might change her mind yet again before she’s through, but I’m equally sure she will do well at whatever she finally ends up doing.

I, on the other hand, will have to make some adjustments. After straight 39 years, I will not have a child in my house. Not officially anyway; and I’m going to have to get used to it. No more reminding them of things they need to do, or getting them out of bed in the mornings even though they set their alarm clocks. No more “Dad, can you take me here or there” or lately, “Dad, can I use the car?” No more of their clothes in the bathroom or the shower left dripping. No more complaining about what’s for dinner or asking to borrow enough money to get a burger. No more complaining about something one of their friends said or did, but defending them if I say something even slightly negative about them. No more of them yelling from the top of the stairs or talking too softly when they’re right next to me. No more staying awake until they’re home or we at least hear from them and know they’re somewhere save. But there will also be fewer times when they try not to smile, but not succeed, when I tell them my latest silly joke. No more of being able to see them every day and praise them when they do well or support or console them when things are a little tough. And most of all, no more hugs when I want one.

I suppose by some measurements I’ve not accomplished much in my life. I’m not rich or famous. I don’t live in the best house or drive the best car. I’ve not invented anything or cured anyone of some dreadful disease. My name isn't on any buildings or billboards.  I’m not the “go to guy” at work and sometimes I wonder if the priest at my church even knows my first name. There are a lot of positive things that I’m not and too many negative things that I am. But I have five of the best kids in the world, and that makes up for all those other things.  As the old saying goes, "for all that I've done wrong I must have done something right", just to have them call me Dad.

Sue and I will use part of that freed up time to spend more time together and that’s a good thing, but I am dreading my empty nest.

A Wish

After several years of doing this, and with all the people I have bumped into again on Facebook, I think I’ve come down to only one real regret. I didn’t get to know more people back in high school.

I know there are a lot of reasons why people move in different circles. It happens all the time in life, not just in high school. And some of those reasons are good, valid reasons -- where you live, where you go to church, where you spend your free time, how you spend your free time, and a lot of other reasons. They all add up to you moving about your little chunk of the world and some people interact with you a lot; some others interact with you a little and even more people don’t interact with you at all.

That being said, I think I could have really gotten to like Kathey Guider or Arthur Kelso or Geneva Henry or Doyle Goodson or any number of others. I just didn’t move in the same circles they did.

I’ve known the kids I grew up with in Loudon almost my whole life, so the Tony Woodys and Sylvia Robinsons and Mack McNews have always been there. If I didn’t move in their circle, I at least had 12 years to bump into them at one time or another. The others, those from the other feeder schools, I only had 4 years to get to know.

Some, like Donna Morgan, Doris, Mike or Ann Russell, were in my home room at one time or another, so I had extra time with them, but I could have gotten to know them better to.

I’ve enjoyed reminiscing with Kathey on here, and I had a good talk with Geneva at the reunion and football game. I just wish I had done that 40 odd years ago.

Moving Around

According to statistics, the average person moves 11 times during their life. They jack that number up some if you are, or were, in the military.

I beat the average. I have lived in 28 separate houses, apartments or dorms in my life, and being in the military did add quite a few to that total, but almost half of those, 12, were before I left Loudon. We moved a lot! Part of that revolved around Mom and where, and if, she was working. She mostly worked as a waitress and I think she worked at every café in town at one time or another, plus she made a few trips to Atlanta to try and find work. We moved down there with her once, but the other times we moved in with my grandparents, but I’m not sure why they moved around.

I think at one time or another I lived in most parts of town, but never outside the city limits. In fact, for a couple of years we lived almost right downtown. There’s a bank there now, just across from the First Baptist Church.

Five of them were in the vicinity of Hospital Hill and three others were around Reservoir Hill. For some reason we gravitated to high places.

It at least let me have a fairly large group of friends, and I probably lived within a stone’s throw of 50% of the senior class at one time or another.

So moving can have advantages I guess, but you don’t get to set down a really good set of roots, and that would have been very nice to have.

Let's Dance

Do you remember your first dance?  I don't.  It must have been sometime during high school, or maybe 7th or 8th grade, because before that I wouldn't have been interested at all.  The reason I ask is that I'm going to let you ladies in on a secret.  We knew how bad we were at dancing, even if we acted like we were the second coming of Fred Astaire..

I know that when you saw us approach you at the begining of a slow song you thought something like, "Uh-oh, here he comes now.  Why did it have to be a slow song?  He's probably going to stand too close."  Okay, so I paraphrased it some.  I'm not a girl, but I've seen that look in their eyes, not exactly like they dread it but maybe a little like the hot dog they just ate isn't quite agreeing with them.

Well, let me tell you, it wasn't all peaches and cream for us guys either.  Well, most of us anyway.  We couldn't dance a lick, not a lick,  and the very last thing we wanted to do was look dorky in front of the other people, especially the girls we might asking to dance later on and our buddies who were going to give us hell when the dance was over.

Our thought process was more like, "Oh God, she looks scared.  I know she's going to say no. Do I look that bad?  Please don't let me step on her feet.  I hope the guys ain't looking.  Oh man, she knows I'm going to stink at this.  Stink?!?!  Oh God, do I smell?  I don't think so.  Maybe I used too much  after shave.  Is she going to laugh?  Why does everybody have to be watching us?  Can she feel me shaking?  Do I talk?  What about?"

So there it is.  The two things that gave us the biggest fit during that time in our lives.  Dealing with girls and dancing.  Most of us were bad at both.

What's Next?

I read an article in a magazine once that said a medical company was a little irritated when Star Trek, way back in the 60s, showed the doctor using a device that he simply waved over the patient and got an instant diagnosis. It seems the device had some similarities to something they had in development. I’m not sure how close their product was to what was shown on Star Trek, but I haven’t seen anything like it when I go to the doctor so I guess their device never made it out of development.

Along the same lines, I read another article that said a company was developing a 360 degree hologram projector. It beamed the image down from the ceiling and your spot in the room determined what you saw, very much like a round stage. I haven’t seen that one yet either.

Which brings me to my question; based on what we’ve seen change in the world in the past 40 years, what do you think will be changing next?

There were computers and magazines like Popular Mechanics would put out issues about the house and car of the future. They didn’t say much about phones, as I recall other than we would have video, sort of like a Dick Tracy video watch, although I think Chet Gould was closer to what the size would be than the magazine was.

Our cars are close to what some of the magazines guessed they would be, but nobody saw GPS coming. I don’t think they saw satellite radio coming either, not to mention CDs and DVDs.

So what’s coming?

In clothing, I don’t think much. I mean styles have changed, but nothing really drastic and jeans today are basically the same jeans our grandparents had, except their jeans became faded and holey from wearing them. They didn’t get them faded and holey straight off the rack, and for that matter, neither did we.

Electronics will continue to evolve and everything will eventually be one device. Phone, radio, computer, TV and anything else they can think of putting into one. Very much like the smart phones now, but a lot smaller. No bigger than an ear bud.

I think the biggest changes will be in energy and our food supply. We get there quicker, easier and more economically and within a couple of generations a lot of the foods we eat now will be gone.

I also think families will limit themselves to one maybe two kids, and a lot of them will choose not have any.

I also think nothing will change in politics and world affairs. Everyone will still be griping at each other.

Hopefully, this old world can find a way to keep going on for many more generations, but I don’t think they will have it as good as we did/do.

The Subject is Nicknames

One of my uncles gave all us kids nicknames when we were little. The only one that really stuck was my half-brother, Bo. My nickname was Pete, but only my uncle called me that. I guess I inherited that trait from him because all my life I have been giving different people nicknames. Some stuck, some didn’t.


The thing about nicknames is that they’re not always flattering, or you might get one in an unusual way. A guy I knew as a kid was called Crip because he only had one arm. Another guy was called Peg because he only had one leg. Very non-PC nicknames. As for me, the one that caused me the most grief was not nearly as hurtful, but it started when a friend was behind me in the school picture line in the 6th or 7th grade and overheard the photographer say, “Come on Pieface, smile.” He was trying to get me to smile, but waiting just outside the door was Allen McNabb, and he started howling. So from then on, I was Pieface or sometimes just Pie. Luckily, it didn’t catch on with too many people.

Along those same lines, Doug Christian was called Albert, which was short for Fat Albert. If you could see me know, you would know God has gotten me back for that one.

During my Air Force years, I had the same nickname no matter where I went. I bet you can’t guess what it was. Yep, Elvis. I guess that’s what you would call a natural nickname. As for me, I went through a phase in the Air Force where I hung the name Bob after everybody’s name, including females; Joe-Bob, Bill-Bob, even Mary-Bob, and there were even a couple of Bob-Bobs. I sort of made them all southern.

This habit naturally passed on to my family. Sue, she prefers Susan, cringes when I call her Suzie. Doug was Pondah when he was little because he couldn’t say Partner, which was what I originally called him. Amy was Ames or Amesarie since her full name is Amy Marie. Michael was Mick. Sue’s mom didn’t like shortened names so she didn’t want me calling him Mike. Christopher was Cripper because when he was little he couldn’t pronounce his own name. Sarah has always been girlfriend.

And I can call any of them baby at any time; even Doug who is 38.

As for the grand kids, only 3 have nicknames. Sean is Boy-o, Owen is O-bo and Logan is Doodah. Like their parents, I can also call any of the grandkids baby or sweetie at any time.

A Couple of Odds and Ends

Sometimes I wish life had an “Undo” button. I’ve never killed anyone, or even came close, and I haven’t exactly laid waste to any of the other Commandments either. Okay, well, maybe one or two, but this isn’t meant to be a confessional, so I’m not going into detail. All I really mean is that I wish I could go back and change some things, and for some reason it seems the ones further back still bug me more than I thought they would.


I think it’s the realization that the further back I go, the less likely that I can do something to mend things. Or, maybe I just don’t want to admit that sometimes I was not a little angel. They’re not really major things, or at least I don’t think they are, but there must be some reason I still remember them. There is even the possibility that the some of the other people involved might not even remember it the way I do, if they remember it at all.

I’m not stressed over it. It’s just something that crosses my mind from time to time.

                                                                                                            

Have your taste buds changed? Based upon when and where I was raised, there are some things that I should like but I don’t.

• Black eyed peas
• Navy beans
• Rhubarb
• Turnips – although I love turnip greens

On the other hand, there are some things I do like that I would not have touched 50 years ago

• Bleu cheese
• Cottage Cheese
• Rye bread

There was a time you couldn’t get me to eat tuna, now I love it. I am the same way with onions; I used to hate them, now I put them in as many things as I can. However, I used to eat a lot of cake, and it didn’t matter what kind it was, but now I rarely touch it. I used to drink a lot of coffee, but I don’t do that anymore either. In fact, the smell of flavored coffee turns my stomach, so I don’t get near Starbucks.

Cars

There are few things that have changed in my lifetime more than the car. There are plenty of new things; computers, microwaves, etc., and the cellphone is new too since there are still desk phones, but the car is still around.


My first car, which I’ve mentioned here many times, was a 1962 Chevy II. It had a straight 6 engine, 3 speed on the column (3 on the tree), bench seats, both front and back, crank windows, window wings, an AM radio and a heater. The seats were covered with naugahyde that dried from the sun, then cracked and split, leaving gaping holes. A lot of folks tried to mend those with duct tape, which led to black, sticky streaks on everything, especially your best shirt.

Back then, it was something special to have bucket seats or a floor shifter. Now I wish I had my bench seat back.

Then they hit us with FM radio to go with the AM, but it wasn’t that much better. AM was bad enough since it would drop the signal when you drove under a bridge or get drowned out by static when you drove under a high power line, and heaven forbid that high power line be on the side of the road you were on or the static would follow you for miles. The FM side was filled with talk radio and elevator music.

Air conditioning came next I guess. I hardly used my for the first several years, but now I use it a lot, even sometimes in the winter. Car dealers sure played this up, and charged for it too.

Next I guess were power windows and power locks, but they did away with the window wing and I miss them since they offered fresh air to just you if that’s what you wanted.

Then it really began to snowball in the 80s. Sunroofs, cassette and then CD players to go along with the AM/FM, cruise control, power mirrors, thermometers, trip computers, onboard computers, and on and on to GPS and even WIFI hotspots. The car now costs almost as much as a house.

Also, when I raise my hood, I wishe I still knew what half that stuff under there is. You used to be able to sit on the wheel well and work on the motor. It was nothing to change your oil or even replace a water pump or generator, well, outside of a few skinned knuckles that is. There was ample room to work and get the leverage you needed. Not anymore.

All in all, there is a lot more gadgets in a car now – a lot of things you ‘must have’, but sometimes, even with all its faults, I still miss my first car.

Memorial Day

I thought of this last night and decided to put it up again.  I don't think an annual reminder would be too much.  I'm sure we all think of at least one of these folks from time to time.  When I look at the pictures I see people I knew almost all my life and some I didn't really know.  Even at this point in my life I still think Wayne was the best friend I've ever had, and Allen wasn't that far behind.   I knew Freddy, Pat Lowe, Larry, Mike and Betty Scott since the first grade.  Jimmy, Patty Hicks and Pat Rucker were people I met later, and the rest I didn't meet until high school.  Estes was a smoking buddy, Janie was always in the library and Bobby Jo never met a stranger.  Doyle was a nice guy, but I really didn't know him, Lynn or Sherry.

All of you are missed, and thankfully, we haven't added anybody else in the past year.

How Did You Do?

If you could peel back the layers to 40 years ago, what did you have in mind to do with your life? Get married and raise a family? College? Work at a specific job or place?


How close did you come to the dreams you had then?

I think most of us had a family in mind, or at least some sort of relationship. Heck, nobody wants to go through life alone. How about college? There are even more to choose from now; little, big and all sizes in between. How did that work out? Did you stick to your original major?

How about work? Did you think about Visking, the mill, the chair factory, the handle factory, Maramont, or how about the family business or farm? There wasn’t a lot to choose from back then, huh? I was lucky enough to get on at Maramont after scouring Loudon, Lenoir City and south Knoxville for everything I could think of. The only restriction was retail. I’ve never had the proper ‘demeanor’ to sell stuff. I couldn’t sell water in a desert.

Anyway, I know a few people who moved into their family business or farm, and I think with mixed results. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Given the opportunity, I would have jumped at it.

This all brings me down to my second question. How close did you get to what you wanted to do? Not counting family, mine turned out to be almost 100% different. I got really lucky and am blessed to have the family I have now, and the altered plans for my life made that happen, so all in all, I am very much okay with how it all turned out.

Are You Ready?

Have you got your plot yet? When are you “old enough” to start thinking about things like that? I guess it’s wise to be prudent about such things and get them settled quickly.


I’ve heard people say, “You’ve got plenty of time for that,” but nobody really knows how much time they have, so I think you should plan something, if even just a little.

I’m not even sure yet if I even want to be buried. I mean after all, I’m here and my kids all live elsewhere, so after I go who’s going to come see my grave. I mean they really wouldn’t be seeing me, just a plot of ground. I’m not trying to sound morbid or overly concerned about such stuff, but it is going to happen so you’ve got to think about it.

Sometimes I think it might even be best not to plan at all. When my Mom passed away, she hadn’t planned anything and all us kids had to get together and hastily put things together. The same thing happened with Sue’s Mom. Looking back, that actually helped deal with her passing. We didn’t have to wonder if she had covered everything or not, and it gave us something to think about besides how much we were going to miss her.

I plan on living until I’m a couple hundred years old anyway, so what does it matter?

Grandbabies

Grandkids put grandparents through a myriad of feelings. First, it’s our babies having babies, even if they have their first at 30. As my kids were growing up I could not imaging them as parents, but boom! Suddenly they are. And it is sudden. It’s as sudden as how quickly they went from 1 to 21; it’s almost like the blink of an eye.

Then, it’s the concern of how they will be as parents. I mean, it took them forever to learn how to tie their shoes or button their shirt or hit the potty. How in the world are they going to take care of a baby?

Then, what happens when they get tired of it? You know, like they did their Sega system or the TV they had to have in their room or that $80 pair of pants they wore exactly one time.

What happens when they have to change a messy diaper? They didn’t like anything green.

Plus we had to remind them to blow their nose, or change their clothes, or pick up after themselves, or that it was not okay to eat that donut after it fell on the floor.

And you know the baby is going to cry in the middle of the night, even if just a little, and these guys are used to not getting into bed until the middle of the night, so who’s going to be taking care of who?

Then finally, after all the worry, and with just a few questions, they are doing it. They aren’t all the bad as parents. They must have learned a lot from us, huh?

So the biggest worry ends up being how we can see the baby more often. The old joke about the best part of having grandkids is that they go home with their parents is not always true. I think that since they are the babies of our babies, we want to love them that much more.

The Little Things

I read somewhere that parents do not create children, children create parents. I think that’s true in a lot of ways because no matter how many of your siblings or cousins or neighbors you helped “raise”, until they are completely and totally your responsibility, you never get the full impact.


It’s also usually the little things you tend to remember most. Everybody remembers the day they were born, their first day at school, baptism, graduations, and those type things, but I’d be willing to be that when you are actively thinking about them, those “monumental moments” usually pale in comparison to some of the little thing they did – at least memory-wise.

The way Amy used to slide down the steps on her butt when she was about 2.

Christopher crawling up into a friend’s lap, who happened to be very “endowed” and had a low cut blouse on, and asked her what that was, pointing to her low cut blouse, and she said “My cleavage”. He replied, “Oh, boobies”

Douglas not being satisfied when we were driving in the rain until I would hit a big enough puddle to cover the entire car.

Sarah being afraid of going through car washes when she was a baby.

The way Amy always asked for a cookie, and when I said okay, she would hold up two fingers and say, “Twofums”

After following Douglas around as he sold magazines for school, Michael, at 5, decided he could do it too and walked around the neighborhood with a coffee can collecting pennies. We made him put them in the collection plate at church.

Christopher at 2, dressed from head to toe in a green felt dinosaur outfit, parading through the mall.

Amy turning out to probably be the best baseball player, (okay, so she played softball, but she was better than either of the boys).

When Sarah gives a hug, she just sort of lays against you and lets you hug away. She always has.

Michael, losing a helium balloon out the car window at 5 and not understanding why we couldn’t just go back and get it.

Christopher walking up the street, after he had fallen off his bike, holding his broken arm out to the side. It looked like he had two elbows, but he was smiling and looked so proud.

Sharing fried egg sandwiches with Sarah and Christopher when they were little, while we watched old westerns on TV.

Douglas taking off on his bike to go visit and friend and coming back almost immediately with one of his toenails almost completely ripped off. He was barefoot and dragged his foot on the street.

Having to put Amy on a plane in Charleston to fly by herself to California when she was scared and crying.

Christopher’s pacifier. He called it his baby, and it was with him constantly for 2 and half years. We were about to panic because we couldn’t find a way to get him to stop using it, then Sue hit on the idea around Christmas that when we left milk and cookies for Santa, he should leave his baby for Rudolph. It worked. He only mentioned it one other time, shortly after Christmas when he said with a pouty bottom lip he said, “Rudolph took my baby!”

And there are more and more special little memories that keep them all so very close to me. I’m not a very demonstrative person when it comes to faith, but when it comes to my kids I can say with all certainty, I have been blessed!

Nobletucky

Sue’s job took us to Memphis, and in 2001, it was responsible for us leaving Memphis. By then we had both left the company where we worked together. She left in early 1998 and I left in November 1998. Her new employer closed their Memphis office in 2001 and offered her a chance to move to either Wichita, KS or Indianapolis, IN. Now, I have nothing against Wichita, other than it was a bit odiferous on one of our trips through there, but Indianapolis would be closer to family and friends, so it was really an easy choice to make.


We moved ourselves (that’s the last time I will do that), and were really looking forward to living someplace new, but I almost turned around as soon as I entered the state. The truck we had was a large U-Haul filled to the brim with all our household furniture. We used an auto dolly to pull our car behind the truck while Sue and Sarah followed behind in our van. When I rented the truck and dolly the last thing the guy told me was, “Under no condition should you try to back this truck with a car on the dolly. You might be able to, but most likely you’ll just damage the car.” His point was that there is a pivot where the trailer connects to the truck and a second pivot where the car wheels attach to the dolly. So to back it up you have the car, the dolly and the truck all going in different directions.

Anyway, so we no sooner get into Indiana when I had to get some gas. The gas station was one of those stop and go places with a café attached to it. I had almost finished filling the tank when this older couple pulled up in a car and parked in front of the café. They were not in a proper parking space and were right in my way. I asked Christopher to go ask the guy to give me a second to move and his smart ass remark was something like, “If he don’t know how to drive, he shouldn’t be out on the road,” and went on in and sat down. He had a point of course, but I couldn’t back up. So I go to talk to him and these 3 or 4 bikers came walking out. They told me not to worry about it, they would move their motorcycles and I could swing wide around him. You don’t know how badly I wanted to clip his fender or something as I went around him, but I didn’t. But it goes to show you something; the old couple, who you would expect to be nice; weren’t, and the bikers who have a questionable reputation with some people, were.

Anyway, Indiana has been great and it will soon be 10 years here. We settled in a little town north of Indianapolis called Noblesville. Yes, it can get cold in the winter and it does snow frequently, but they do a great job in clearing the roads and the cold only makes the spring time that much nicer. In fact, all four seasons here are distinct and enjoyable.

The people are also great. They sometimes change the last name of some cities to “tucky” to account for southerners who moved north in search of jobs, but there are times you would think you were right back in the south from the way a lot of people talk. Some of the area around the University of Indiana looks like someone scooped up a big chunk of Loudon County and dropped it in Indiana. It’s hilly and green and a lot of folks have a twang.

Come up and see us sometime!

Memp'is

The developments surrounding my retirement from the Air Force came unexpectedly and I had no leads on any kind of job. The company Sue worked for had just opened an office in Memphis, or Memp'is as some of the locals called it, and offered her a promotion if she transferred. We talked it over and agreed that it would be better for everyone if we moved there, so in January, 1990, Sue moved while I stayed in the South Carolina to sell the house.


At the time, I was happy with the move. We would be back in Tennessee, albeit on the western end, but either way, Christopher, and later Sarah, would be born in my home state. So, after selling the house I moved into an apartment to finish out my time. Meanwhile, when Michael got out of school that spring, he joined Sue and when I got ready to retire in November, we made arrangements for Douglas to stay with friends so he could complete his senior year.

I retired on November 15th, and moved to Memphis to be a stay at home Dad until I found a job. Looking back, that was one of the happiest times in my life. Christopher and I spent every day together and I bonded with him deeper than I did with any of the other kids. We were a team. Whether it was for his doctor appointments, grocery shopping, picking up Michael from school, job interviews, getting our new house set up, or whatever, we were together.

I tried getting a weather related job but couldn’t, so in February I was offered a job at the same place Sue worked and I took it. I started out processing the paperwork for items imported into the country by Fedex. That lasted 6 months or so when I moved into a new section they were starting up to develop reports and forms for use by my company, Fedex and U.S. Customs. A couple of years later, I moved into the computer/network support department where I eventually became supervisor.

So, family-wise and job-wise, everything was great. Sarah came along in 1992 and the 5 of us were happy. Over time though, Memphis started wearing on me. It was a very racial city, with both the blacks and whites trying to one-up each other. Everything, it seemed, revolved around skin color; even the politics. The city council wasn’t so much Republicans versus Democrats, or conservatives versus liberals, it was blacks versus whites. If one side was for it, the other side was against it, while neither side seemed to care one way or the other what was best for the city as a whole.

There were a few things to do, but not really that much. Minor league baseball and college sports, or college basketball anyway; football wasn’t that big of a deal. Then which college do you root for? Memphis State, which later became the University of Memphis, Ole Miss, or Mississippi State, or Arkansas, or Arkansas State or even LSU? I didn’t leave out the University of Tennessee or Vanderbilt. They were the “other schools” in the other part of the state. I saw a lot of local sports reports in Memphis that didn’t bother to give scores for these "other schools".

There was the annual festival called Memphis in May. Lots of stuff going on there, but for the first several years you could go to the BBQ contest but not get any of the BBQ, which made absolutely no sense to me. You basically just walked around and watched people cook BBQ. The music festival was usually good, I will give them that much.

Oh, I forgot Beale Street, which could be fun, and people partied there a lot, but all I ever really needed to know about Beale Street was when I saw the police substation right in the middle of the small 3 block area. Well, to be fair to Beale Street, the whole downtown area was like that -- very foreboding.

Then there is the economy. It’s as if Tennessee, Arkansas and Mississippi never got together and figured out what they were going to do with this city that is actually a part of all 3 states. The economic structure in each state is different and Memphis can only grow north and east. That being said, there has been a marked growth in northern Mississippi over the past 10 years, but barely any in Arkansas. That’s a little sad too because at one time Memphis was the equal to Miami, Atlanta, Birmingham and New Orleans, but now those cities have all passed it up and Nashville, Little Rock and Montgomery aren’t that far behind.

Okay, I realize that most of what I just said was personal opinion and that there are a lot of people who live in Memphis who love it there. I’m glad, because someone has to live there, it’s just not me. When it came time to leave, I was more than ready.

I will say this much though. I met a lot of good people there. The ones I worked with became almost like a family to me. Sometimes I wish they had moved to Indiana with me.

Mom! She's Broked!!

In a small way, Christopher was a miracle child. A couple of months before Sue became pregnant, I was trying to console her because her doctor had found what he called cysts on her ovaries and recommended she get a hysterectomy. That’s a pretty big jump from a possible hysterectomy to being pregnant. I guess you could safely say the doctor’s prognosis was wrong.

Sarah was unexpected too. Just a few months before Sue became pregnant with Sarah, she had a miscarriage and we honestly thought there would be no more children. This time, we were wrong.

I don’t think it would be a surprise to any of my other kids if I admitted I really wanted a girl this time around. I love my boys but we had to balance things out a little, even though Amy joked about wanting to be the only girl. At least she said she was joking.

Anyway, due to Sue’s earlier miscarriage there was a lot of testing and checkups this time around, including several tests that would tell us what the gender was. As I’ve said before, I’ve always viewed knowing the gender of the baby beforehand like Christmas; you ask for what you want but you take what you get. But one day as I was in bed recovering from having my wisdom teeth removed, Sue came back from her latest doctor’s appointment and put a bonnet in my hand. It was her way of making me feel better, and I was ecstatic!

When she was born, Sue spent the night in the hospital. Then next day when Michael, Christopher and I went to pick them up, Christopher was very excited. His Mom was only gone overnight, but at 2 years old, that was too long for him; plus he had a new baby sister. He crawled up on the bed to hug Sue just as the nurse brought Sarah into the room. Sue began to change her diaper before we left and Christopher was watching everything she was doing. When the diaper came off it was obvious to him that this one was ‘different’ than he was. “Mom”, he said, “She’s broked!”

The next day, after her first visit to the doctor, the hospital called. Her bilirubin count was too high and they were concerned she might get jaundice, so they asked us to bring her back the next day and they would keep her for a couple of days to see if they could get it down. I was okay with that. I knew it was the best thing for her, but they didn’t bother to tell us that the only place they admit newborns to is Neonatal Intensive Care. We walked into the office and as I handed her over to the nurse, I could see through the windows at all the little babies in incubators with all sorts of tubes and machines attached to them. Suddenly, this wasn’t a minor thing anymore. My baby was going in that room too. I have to admit I couldn’t hold back the tears. Looking back now, it seems a little silly, but at the time, it was tough. But tough or not, she looked so cute. They put a blindfold over her eyes so the lights wouldn’t damage them and they used a surgical mask to fashion a covering for her bottom. She looked for the world like she was sunning herself in her bikini.

In so many ways, she was the perfect last baby. She very seldom cried. When we put her in her crib she went right to sleep. In the morning, if she woke up before we did, she would lay there or play with a toy until she heard us moving around and then she’d stand up and wait for us to come get her. She never used a pacifier, was easy to wean off the bottle and even easier to potty train. In fact, she only had one night time “accident”, and that was when she was sick.

She did have her dark side though, she was the only one who ever wrote on walls (a lot) and she had the most annoying habit of picking at wall paper until she could rip off little pieces off the wall. It took a while to break her from those habits.

Oh, and she was also very attached to her Daddy. Where ever we went, I was either carrying her or holding her hand. She also had to have the seat right next to me, whether it was at the theatre, a restaurant or church. Even now, she still sits beside me in church; sometimes right against me. And I love it.

My favorite all time picture was taken at Douglas’ wedding. A couple of the groomsmen couldn’t show up so when it came time for the wedding party to dance someone asked if I would dance with Amy. I categorically cannot dance, but there was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity to dance with my baby, so I said “Absolutely.” As we moved around the dance floor with me trying very hard to stay off her toes I hear this voice yell, “That’s my Daddy!” I turned to see Sarah running out onto the dance floor and she grabs onto my leg. So, I bent down and picked her up in one arm while holding Amy with the other, and the three of us finished the dance. Someone took a picture of us – me and my two girls -- Amy at 20, Sarah at 4.

Sarah’s a senior this year and I am going to be so sad when she goes off to college. She’s going to the same school Christopher goes to so that will be a good thing. He will keep an eye on her so that will keep her save and she’s really smart so she will do fine, I’m just not looking forward to not seeing her every day, even if it’s just to yell at her to pick up her room.

I’ve had a kid in my house since December 26, 1972, almost 39 years by the time she goes off to college. I know I’m going to find myself in her room some days; looking at her stuff, smelling her smells or just remembering. And that’s just because she’s going to college. By the time she’s ready to get married and move away permanently I’ll be a basket case.

Number Four

If any of my kids go into politics, it will be Christopher. He has such a unique blend of compassion, wit and charisma. He doesn’t just make friends with his friends; he makes friends with their brothers and sisters, their parents and in some cases their grandparents. There are several families who think nothing of coming home and finding Christopher in their den watching TV, whether their kids are home or not.

It started early on. Even when he was little he liked people, and once he was your friend he was your friend forever. When he was in the 2nd or 3rd grade one of his friends broke their arm and had to sit out recess for a week or so. Christopher sat out with him because he didn’t want his friend sitting out by himself. When his baby sister Sarah started kindergarten, he went to her room every day, several times a day to see if she was alright. Okay, so he can be a little pesky too.
In the 3rd grade, when he started playing basketball and his brother Michael was in Air Force basic training, Christopher wanted to send him game pictures. Christopher was the only white kid on his team, and was blonde to boot, but he made sure we wrote on the back of the pictures which one was him so Michael would know. He didn’t see color, he saw basketball players.

After we were up here a few years and he was in the 7th or 8th grade, every little kid in school treated him like he was some sort of hero. Whenever he was singled out for something during assembly, he would get standing ovations from the little folks. Why? He paid attention to them. He would speak to them, give them “high 5s”, or just acknowledge them in some way when they passed in the hall.

And it wasn’t just the younger folks. He went to visit senior citizen homes and played checkers with them. Once, during pregame warm ups for a high school basketball game he ran over to the stands and shook hands with a friend’s grandfather he had met briefly the day before and welcomed him to the game.

If you saw him do things like that once or twice, you could say he planned them, but he didn’t. He just does it and he’s that way every day. Did he graduate with honors? No. And the only water he walks on is in my mind, along with his brothers and sisters, but he is a special kid. I wish I could say I had something to do with him being that way, but I know that caring and unselfishness like that comes from a much higher authority than me.

My Box

Just before Christmas 1987, I noticed a gift under the tree from Sue. It was brightly wrapped and a bit bigger than a shoe box. I’m not one to shake gifts or try to guess what they are, and I don’t poke around the house the few weeks before Christmas trying to find out what I’m getting. There were too many bare or skimpy Christmases when I was growing up not to appreciate whatever I get, even the can of Coke Sarah gave me when she was 2.

Anyway, Christmas morning as everyone was unwrapping things, I noticed Sue was watching expectantly as I opened that one gift. I had already assumed it was shoes but I was very much surprised. It was a doll, a handmade, ceramic doll. At first, I thought she had gotten the gifts mixed up and had meant it for the little girls next door, but she said, “Read the card.” She had handwritten a note explaining that the doll was a replacement for the child she had not been able to give me.

Heck, I wasn’t even expecting a child, nor did I think we were trying. We had already gone through all that with the chaplain before we had gotten married. But I could see that the doll was important to her, and that made it important to me, so I kept it. And I still have it. She will be 24 years old this Christmas.

She’s in a bigger box in my closet along with all the other bits and pieces of my memories. There are pictures of course, but there are other things too. There is the cover for Christopher’s cast when he broke his arm and the “chops” he just had to have after seeing cowboys wear them in the movies. Not chaps, but chops. That’s what he called them when he was about 2. There’s a plaster hand print Sarah made at school, a report card or two and picture pins of Amy and Michael. There are even teeth left out for the tooth fairy.

There is only one thing that used to be there but is now gone --- a wind-up toy that belonged to Douglas that I gave back to him to decorate his first son’s room.

There are a lot of little things in that box, but they bring back big memories.

Out of the Icebox and Into the Oven

I did not live in an air conditioned house until I was a junior in high school, and even then it was one of those small window units that only cooled its immediate surroundings; the other parts of the house were varying degrees of cool and hot. Before that time, it was open windows or fans, and sitting on the front porch after supper so the house could cool off enough to go to sleep. Growing up, I thought nothing of spending all day out in the heat and humidity, either playing when I was a kid or working outside when I was a teenager. At that time the heat didn’t bother me at all.

Then, after I joined the Air Force, I spent the next 6 years on the edge of the desert in Southern California. It was less humid yes, but still hot. It is true that a dry heat is not as uncomfortable as the humid air, but let me tell you, 110 degrees is hot, with or without the humidity.

Anyway, after a year in Alaska I went right back to humid Arkansas and stayed there until 1981. So up until I was 29 my summers were toasty. I was used to just chucking my shirt when I got hot working outside or rolling down the window in the car – “God’s air conditioner” I called it. I rarely used my car air conditioner. Then along came Monterey.

For 4 years, I lived in an air conditioner. I think I said before the daytime highs were 65 and nighttime lows were 55 almost all year long. Well, I looked it up. Officially, those numbers are 62 and 48, which is even more to my point. It was perfect weather for a hot tub, but it sure did a number on internal temperature tolerance.

So, after getting my orders I set out for Charleston, SC with Sue, Amy and Michael. Douglas stayed the summer in California with him Mom. It was late May and we made plans to stop in Houston, TX, and Montgomery, AL to see friends before heading to Loudon to see my Mom. We got to Houston the next night at around midnight. It was stifling!! It was still so hot and humid the windows fogged up. After a couple of days, it was on to Montgomery and more of the same. By the time we reached Loudon I was ready to melt. We actually cut our stay in Loudon by a couple of days because I couldn’t wait to get to someplace cooler. Each of these places had air conditioning, but that didn’t help when you went outside.

We were going to stay with Sue’s aunt when we first got to Charleston until we settled into the base and found a place to live. We got there on June 5th, and I’ll never forget it. It was 95 degrees and felt like 300% humidity, and her aunt didn’t even own a fan! I roasted all night! The next morning I was going to go to the base to sign in and Sue was going to look for an apartment. She asked me what I wanted and I said, “The first place you find with a working air conditioner!”

We eventually adjusted, at least a little. However, to this day, I still can’t take much of the heat and it’s all because of the time I spent on the central California coast. But oh, what a place that was. I’ve been back several times and sometimes think I would like to live there again, but I know it’s changed. More people, more expensive; probably nowhere near the paradise I remember. But it’s still nice to dream.

A Comedy of Errors

In January, 1985, I got a call from the assignment people; the same ones I called to get to California, only this time they wanted to move me. They said I had been at Ft Ord for awhile, and asked if I was interested in transferring somewhere else. This was their way of saying, “If you want to move somewhere we can try to work it out, but one way or another, you’re moving.” So I mentioned the southeast. He asked me define what I had in mind and I told him anywhere south of the Ohio River and east of the Mississippi River. The following week I got orders to Charleston AFB, SC, reporting in June 1985.

This news had an impact on my relationship with Sue. I had gotten to the point that I thought at some point we might get married, but neither of us were rushing in that direction. I called Sue and gave her the news and while she sounded a little apprehensive about it, she didn’t say anything. Over the next week or so I thought hard about whether to let things stay the same or propose. I finally decided that it seemed inevitable at some point, so why not do the deed.

I spoke with Douglas about it also, since to me, he had veto power over it. If there was anything he wasn’t comfortable with I wouldn’t propose, but he said he had no objection. So I did and Sue prompted rebuffed me with “I’ll think about it.” Think about it? We were running out of time. Not only would we have to plan a wedding but I would have to have time to amend my orders to include her and Michael, and the military didn’t do anything quickly.

She finally said yes, so that was the biggest step out of the way. Next, it was off to the personnel office to let them know and they promptly put me in touch with the chapel. It was mandatory to get premarital counseling, which included the chaplain. This was so the non-military person would know what rights and services they had in the military and have a better idea of what to expect.

We went to see a protestant chaplain, a Baptist one to be specific, and he viewed it as no big deal since Sue and I had “been around awhile”, as he put it. We were to have 3 or 4 meetings with him before he performed the wedding. During our second meeting, he mentioned kids. Sue and I were both around 30 so we didn’t believe kids were likely and therefore not an issue. But the chaplain was concerned, and said since I was Baptist and Sue was Catholic we should decide right then and there how we would raise any new kids. I told him to me it wasn’t even a consideration, and he dropped it, but mentioned it several more times over the course of the counseling.

Then on Tuesday, before we were to be married on Saturday, he called me at work and said he was sorry, but he had just realized he would be out of town over the weekend. That was the closest I’ve ever come to calling a man of God a liar. I will always believe the he was balking just because I wouldn’t commit to raising the kids as Baptists.

Anyway, I immediately called Sue and she almost fainted. We had three days to come up with another minister. One of the ladies Sue worked with said she her grandfather was a retired Pentecostal preacher and she would ask him. He agreed without question. He was a very nice man. Very cordial and understanding of anything we wanted to do. However, he did have a little Parkinson’s and tended to forget sometimes.

On Saturday, when we arrived at the chapel, everything was ready. Douglas was my best man, Amy was the flower girl and Michael was the ring bearer. Just before the wedding the minister came over to where Douglas and I were standing and said that he was going back to see Sue, and when we saw him walking back to the altar, that would be out queue to walk out and wait for her to process in. In the meantime, when he went to see Sue, he told her to take her time, there was no rush, and he headed back toward the altar. Well, Douglas and I saw him coming back toward the altar, so we marched out to the head of the aisle to wait for Sue – who was in the back, taking her time.

After several minutes the guests were watching Douglas and I and started to murmur, wondering what was going on. So was I, but at this point I didn’t know whether to go back to where I was or just stand there. Finally, she came walking up the aisle, but by that time I was nervous as I could be. She took my arm, we walked up the steps and stood in front of the minister, and then I noticed he was having a major Parkinson’s day and was shaking so hard it was a wonder he could read it. I felt both sorry for him and impressed by him that he was brave enough to stand in front of people in that condition; a condition that wasn’t helping me at all, because the more I watched him shake, the more nervous I became. I didn’t faint, but we did rush through things a little bit.

It was a lot to go through in such a relatively short time, but we made it, and I have to say it was meant to be since we’ve been together since. At our reception, I met one of Sue’s friends, a lady from Peru (I think) who made her living as a fortune teller. A few months before I met Sue she had gone with her aunt to visit this lady and on a whim decided to get her fortune told too. She had told Sue that she would meet a guy who wore a blue suit with real shiny shoes and have something to do with the air, and that we would get married and go to a place where the trees were different and have a long happy life together. She was right.

My Favorite Place

In late 1980, Douglas and his mom wanted to see more of each other and I wanted to see Amy more than once a year, so I called up the weather assignment people and asked if there were any openings in or near Southern California. He told me there were two, Luke AFB near Phoenix, AZ and Ft. Ord near Monterey, CA. They were roughly the same distance from Amy, and they each had their bad points --- the heat of Arizona versus supporting the Army. I had lived on the edge of the desert before so I doubted the heat would bother me, but that Army thing was something I didn’t want to deal with. He said he would give me 24 hours to make up my mind.

The next day I called him back and said I had made up my mind, but he told me there was no longer a choice. All he had was Ft Ord, take it or leave it. So, with some reservations, I took it.

The Monterey area is gorgeous. Similar to San Francisco with hills and ocean, our apartment was 8-10 blocks up the hill overlooking the bay. There is a lot of fog, but the days that are not foggy more than make up for the days that are. Temperatures were almost always 65 during the day and 55 at night. There was some fluctuation on those temperatures but it was one of the most homogeneous climates I’ve ever seen.

Even the Army surprised me. It was a little different when I first got there; all that marching and running and stuff, but I didn’t have to do it so it was no big deal. The weather station was opened 6am to 6pm, Monday thru Friday and closed on holidays. We went to the field with the Army a few times a year; pitching tents, digging foxholes and latrines right along with them, but even that wasn't so bad. And the weather I’ve already mentioned made forecasting relatively easy.

Then away from Monterey, you could go anywhere from San Francisco to Santa Barbara, but even if you limited yourself to Santa Cruz to Big Sur, it was still great. There was also Highway 1 down the coast, driving the bluffs above the ocean, or up and down the Salinas Valley that was much warmer and one of the garden spots of the world.

All in all, it was a terrific assignment, and I consider it my favorite place.

Little Meanie

Take 15 pounds of boy; add a double dose of rambunctiousness, an extra scoop of curiosity, a pinch more impatience and maybe just a wee bit shorter fuse, and you have Michael when I first met him. He was 3 years old and Sue’s pride and joy. He never met a chance at adventure that he didn’t like.

He took to me okay. He was a little apprehensive at first, but I guess that’s normal. He was more excited that I had a son and usually when I came to visit, so did Douglas. When his mom and I got married, he was most happy about getting a brother and sister at the same time. Instant family, why wait?

He called me “Big Meanie” and I called him “Little Meanie”, but I can’t remember why. He was teasing me because he always had a smile on his face.

After we got married and I started the process to adopt him, he thought it was great, especially when we told him he would get to change his name. When we told him his name was now Michael Presley he was a little confused. He said he thought he could change it to Michael Jackson.

He was not one to mess around with procedures. If you were going to punish him, he wanted it over with as quickly as possible. None of this long, drawn out stuff. When he was about 5 I grounded him for some long forgotten infraction. He was to remain in his room for the rest of the day. After about a half hour, he came downstairs and told me, “Dad, just beat me and get it over with.”

I told him a long time ago that he was the only one of my kids that I got to choose, and it’s true. There is some apprehensions about assuming the total responsibility for someone you didn’t help bring into the world, but that has long since dissipated, and I have no regrets --- even during the trying teen years,

Michael has found his niche in the world and is doing well. He is married and has 4 kids, two he inherited when he got married. He’s doing well, and I’m proud of him.

Don't You Love Her Madly, Want to Meet her Daddy?

Being a single parent isn’t easy, although relatively speaking; having only one child to worry about has to be easier. Also, mine was a boy, and I at least had the experience of being a boy once myself to fall back on. I’m not sure I could have handled a girl, since I knew nothing about the obvious differences that would be showing up. However, that being said, I would taken Amy in a heartbeat if it turned out that way and gladly give it my best shot.

Obviously, everything focuses on the child. I know that’s also true with both a Mom and Dad in the picture, but when there’s only one parent I think it’s even more so. I know in my case, Douglas was ‘Job 1’, and very few things were done without considering him first. I pretty much channeled all of “my” time into the couple of months in the summer when he was with his Mom. That was the time I let my hair down and howled at the moon, if you want to put it that way. The rest of the year, he was my prime concern.

When it came to dealing with other people, there was also a difference. I believe the world, or at least the military world back then, was geared more to a female single parent. I don’t think they always knew how to deal with a guy single parent. Also, socially, some of the women I ran into were skeptical to say the least. When some of them found out I had a son at home, I was either, running around on my wife or looking for a mother for my son. Neither case was correct.

Then on Tuesday, July 3, 1984, I met Sue. When I first saw her, I was impressed. You could tell she cared about her appearance without going overboard; she was very personable, educated and immediately put me at ease. As we developed our relationship, we made sure to include Douglas and her son, Michael. By the end of the year, I was beginning to feel okay with the idea of our relationship becoming something more long term. The Air Force has a way of speeding things up.

In January, 1985 I received orders for Charleston AFB, SC. The news was a little bittersweet. Amy would no longer be so close and Douglas would be further away from his Mom. Plus, I would be leaving Sue. So, after a couple of weeks of deep thought, and even though we had known each other just a short time, I asked her to marry me. Her response? “I’ll think about it.” Wow, so much for believing she felt the same way I did!

Actually, she did feel the same way, she was just a bit more pragmatic that I was – and still is. So, after having to scurry to get things done in a very short time, we were married on March, 30, 1985, with her mother’s words echoing in my ears; “I think you should know she’s hard to live with.”

I have said a hundred times how much she means to me. It’s been over 25 years now. Twenty five years after going through the deepest, darkest time of my life. She is probably the one woman in the world who puts up with my stuff and never considers what I would have been, could have been or should have been. She is the anchor in this family; the one that holds it all together.

And I love her madly.

My First Baby Girl

I went off to Alaska in January, and Amy turned 1 that March. From about the time she was born I knew I would be leaving so I held her as much as I could. Besides, she was so cuddly.

After I returned from Alaska, there was so much other stuff going on that I didn’t get to spend that much time around her. Once, when I was getting ready to fly to California to see the kids, a friend of mine said, “Don’t be upset with her if she doesn’t recognize you or take to you very quick, she’s just a baby and may not recognize you.” That bothered me and I worried about it the entire way to California, but when I saw her for the first time, her eyes told me she knew exactly who I was. It made me feel so much better.

She had me wrapped around her finger from an early age, and she knew it. It’s amazing how quickly baby girls can do that to fathers. I didn’t spoil her, not intestinally any, but I loved being around her. Whenever she wanted anything she would come over to me, smile really big, and say “Daaaaaaaaaddddddyyyyyy”, drawing it out in that sweet little girl voice, and I would melt.

She was almost always wearing dresses, and I brought her one almost every opportunity I got, especially for school. It wasn’t until she was 7 or 8 that she told me enough was enough. No more dresses! She didn’t say it like that, of course. In fact, she didn’t want to tell me at all, she was afraid it would hurt my feelings. Her Mom encouraged her a bit, so she finally approached me. Of course, I said I would stop; but not without a bit of reluctance. I guess I was just old fashioned in that regard.
I got to see her a few times each year; a little more often when Doug and I moved to Monterey, but I missed so much of her life. Alabama used to sing a song called, Up In Pictures, and even though it came out some years later, I would tear up every time I heard it because it was so close to how I felt.

She is my free spirit, much more than either or the boys.. She loves to laugh and have a good time, and have a crowd around her. She is also very interested in her origin, her roots, and keeps up with the family history on both sides. She is creative and as it turns out, she’s a great mom too.

I made my biggest mistake as a Dad with her. I didn’t go to her wedding. There are several reasons why I chose not to, and at the time, they all made so much sense, but in the end, you realize it’s such a big piece of our relationship and I’ll never be able to get it back. I’ve told her how I feel – that it was my biggest mistake, and she accepted it, but it doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t take part in the biggest event in a Dad’s life with his baby girl.

And she's still my baby girl.

My Best Man

A man goes by many names throughout his life. When he’s born, he is called the son of his parents, the grandson of his grandparents or the nephew of his aunts and uncles. When he gets a little older, he is known as a brother or a cousin. When he starts school, he becomes the friend of his friends or ‘that boy who runs around with them’. For a brief time after high school, he is himself as he goes to college or starts a career, Later; if he’s lucky, he will become a husband and another family will know him as an in-law. Then, if he’s blessed, he becomes known as his children’s dad and later a grandfather.

Of all these names or associations, I have enjoyed being called Dad most of all. And actually, it had very little to do with me. I obviously had to take all the steps necessary to become a Dad, but the pleasure of the job lies totally with the kids. Before they’re born, God gives them a big dose of complete, unconditional love -- the only true example of it that I know of. Babies don’t care if you’re short, tall, skinny, fat, black, or white. They couldn’t care less about how you look or how much money is in your bank account. All they want is for you to love and take care of them, and honestly, they don’t even care if you don’t even do that, because they’re still going to hug on you and kiss on you and make you feel like you’re the most important person in the world. Because to them, you are.

That’s where I found myself with Doug. He was no longer a baby but he was still very young. We became a team in November and he turned 6 in December. And he thought I was the world. That is a very big thing to live up to when you have to handle everything yourself. You can’t always be the good guy; you have to be the one who calls the shots on everything, right or wrong, down to buying their socks. Thank God for Geranimals!

How did I do? I would give myself a B, maybe a high C at times. I recall one morning when he had a cold and was stuffed up. The bus was blowing its horn outside, he was late getting his coat on, and he wouldn’t stand still so I could zip it up. So I popped his cheek. Not hard, but with an open hand. It was meant to get his attention. There were several reasons why I did it, but not one of them was really worth a damn in the end. Anyway, the mucus and the blood came spewing out of his nose and down the front of his coat. I had to wave the bus on, dress him all over, and wash his coat. He ended up staying home, which is what should have happened in the first place. To make matters worse, later on when I was telling someone about it, I glossed over it, saying my hand slipped off his zipper. I was afraid the military would do something if I said I popped him. It didn’t matter, it was an out and out lie no matter how you look at it, and he was standing right there.  The look in his eyes told me I had just wasted some credibility with him, and that’s something you can’t get back.

Another incident was later on, when we had moved to Monterey, CA. He was about 11 and asked me one day if he could play in the school band. I told him yes but only if the school provided the instrument because we couldn’t afford one. They did, so a day or two later he brought his instrument home. You have to picture this. Monterey was similar to San Francisco in that it was on a bay and was hilly. His bus stop was 2 or 3 blocks down the hill from our apartment. I’m sitting on the couch watching TV one day when he comes walking in the door with a cello! It was almost twice his size but he was so proud of it. I told him he should take it back and ask for something else. He did, and got a drum. It’s funny. He and I talked about this at Thanksgiving and we remember it differently. He says he kept it for a few days, but I remember having him take it back the next day. It doesn’t really matter I guess, since the drums that I thought would be a passing fad ended up carrying him to his PhD.

There was also the time a year or so later when I got sick and was out of it for awhile. He took care of me then and more than once I saw fear or concern in his eyes, but he did it and did it well. My biggest worry had always been if something happened to me, what would happen. He showed me what would happen; in spades. He was a trooper who did what he had to do.

So, logically, when I met Sue, it was important to me that they get along. In fact, when I started feeling stronger toward her and began to think about asking her to marry me, I talked to Douglas first. To a point, he had veto rights over the whole thing. I did not want to make him feel trapped in something he wouldn’t like. He said he was okay with it and was my Best Man at the wedding.

There are times I still miss those days.

And a Child Shall Lead Him...

Millions of songs and books have been written about breaking up and there are a million more yet to come. Breaking up is never fun, especially when it is a marriage and involves kids. If loving someone is an example of man at his best, then divorce must be an example of man at his worst. Our divorce was unique, at least to us, but at the same time it was not really that much different than any other. All it takes is for one person to start thinking it’s time to move on. At that point, you can’t save it. It took me several years to get past it; to get to a point where I stopped playing “what if” and “yes, but” games with myself. It’s always easier being the leaver.

The hardest part for me was the timing. She was back in California with the kids and I was stuck on an island near the end of the Aleutians. This was before PCs, DVDs, cell phones, video games, satellite TV or anything like that, so there were few diversions. We got two 5 minute phone calls home a week and mail was delivered on Tuesdays and Fridays. Other than that, there was nothing. We could have called more often if we wanted to pay $5 or $6 a minute. My salary wasn’t enough to cover that.

I was only there for a year, but it was a very long year, so at times, you had to hold on to whatever you felt was solid just to keep your sanity. For me, that was my wife and kids. So while she was deciding to move on, I was holding on as tightly as I could. It wasn’t a time to “hold on loosely” as .38 Special would say. So, when it was time to come home, there was little to come home to. I was being reassigned to Arkansas, and we were split again because she wanted to stay in California, with the kids.

I don’t blame her for how things worked out. I did at first, mostly because I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t holding onto me as tightly as I was holding onto her, but I slowly came to realize that there was nothing I could do to change it. We half heartedly tried again later that summer when I was going to school, but by the time school was over even I could see it was useless to try any more.

That’s when my little man stepped in. After the attempt that summer, we all went back to Arkansas while she made plans to go back to California. Then one day out of the blue she said, “Douglas wants to stay with you, is that okay?” Was it okay? You could have knocked me over with a feather. Almost immediately I started thinking things like, “what do I know about raising a 5 year old by myself”, but just as quickly I brushed those thoughts aside. Sure he can stay!

If you asked him how I was at raising him, I hope he would tell you I did at least okay, but I’m not so sure. Some days it was debatable about who was actually raising who. I made more than my share of boo-boos, but I always tried to put his wants and needs before mine, and I hope he knew he could come and talk to me about anything, no matter what.

For the next 7+ years it was just us guys.  We were a team. .