Life
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Chapter Endings
Also: One day at a time… At the time, I thought the years (actually only six weeks) that I had spent in basic military training at lovely Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio were the worst. But the next day after graduation (and after having been awarded honor graduate for my “skills” as guidon during honor flight competition) I stepped onto a chartered Greyhound bus headed north for Wichita Falls, TX (which conveniently was a mere 9,990 miles away) I contemplated the past six weeks. The past six weeks? They really weren’t that bad, I thought. I got into great physical shape after having gained a great deal of…
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A Love Story in Winter
I twirled her around a few times while the soft moonlight filtered and fractured its way through the frozen branches of a row of nearby birch trees. It was this magical moment that one simply cannot replicate in the warm and mostly snow-less climate of central Arkansas. But I was in Russia and for me, everything — everything about that place was educational, motivational, and intoxicating. This was one of those intoxicating moments. I had met this smart, talented, and beautiful northern woman weeks earlier. A few minutes earlier, we had taken some toys to an orphanage and were now walking through the snow and ice back to her home. Now before…
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Coinage from Heaven
I’m six years old. And like normal six-year-olds, I am fidgety, shifting my little body back and forth in a wooden church pew in a community called Plateau, which, by the way, most people mispronounce. I’m clutching coins in my hands. They’re mostly pennies, a few nickels, and some dimes. But, no quarters. I would have kept those. A minute earlier, my mom had handed me the now tightly clutched coins in preparation for, “The Collection.” This was not a particularly joyful occasion. Judging by the looks on peoples’ faces, I’d say it was more like a romantic breakup. “Goodbye. I’ll miss you, little dollar. Write me!” Then, the obligatory…
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Dad’s Voice
“Mom, Mom. He sounds just like John Wayne!” Charlene, a girl from high school with whom I was visiting, enthusiastically told her mother what she thought about my father’s voice. Dad was there at her house to pick me up because, for some reason, I was without transportation. My dad’s voice had always been deep and clear. He was a frequent speaker at AA meetings where he could mesmerize an audience with his story of overcoming addiction. He also spent a lot of time on CB and ham radio, speaking with that cool voice with folks from all over the world. And of course, he sounded like John Wayne. Unfortunately,…
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The Quitting Card
I was nine years old the first time I quit. The reason that I left Little League football was not that I didn’t want to play. I did. I mean, I had the usual football heroes like Roger Staubach and Archie Manning which likely reflects my age and NFL geographical viewing area more than anything else. I also followed Lynn Swann. The real reason I quit football at the mature age of nine was to punish my dad for being a chronic alcoholic. Although he would eventually stop drinking within the year, he was still living life as a sloppy and mostly angry drunk. And for some odd reason, I…
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Another Southern Thing
Taylorsville, Mississippi: It’s a tiny place in South Mississippi. A guy in a blue Chevrolet pick-up truck drives past me, raises his hand on the steering wheel, and waves as if he knows me. I don’t know him, but I wave back. I’m pretty sure that if I tried that in New York City I’d be assaulted and or arrested. My dad had a habit of always waving at approaching vehicles, one hand on the wheel and the other hand holding a Pall Mall cigarette (ashes on the seat and floorboard). If a hand was empty, it’d be holding a cup of sugar and milk, with a touch of coffee.…
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Portland in October
As a Trial Defense Attorney for the Army Reserve, I attended my share of conferences. This one was in Portland. Oregon. Now, I had wanted to take along my good camera, but the battery was dead and I couldn’t find the battery charger. So, I said to my wife, “Wife, I’m not going to bother taking the other smaller digital camera (the one that takes really great pictures). After all, I’m only going to Portland. My first morning, ever, in Portland greeted me with sunshine. They told me this was rare in the Northwest. However, from the eighth floor, I was nearly blinded by the brightness emanating from a row…
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The “R” Question
I’m sitting in a barbershop in Northwest Arkansas probably 15 years ago when the obligatory barber conversation started: Me: “Just give me a low fade, kinda like a national guard cut.” Barber: “Oh, are you retired?” I frown and stay silent for a minute. Because, well, ‘one of these things is not like the other.’ I don’t know why that was her go-to question. “Are you retired?” All I communicated was the description of the haircut I wanted. And, for the record, I have hair, unlike a lot of people my age. No offense Satsuma High School class of 1981, but I’ve seen your Facebook photos. I mean not all…
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My brother’s bike
A Kawasaki 900. It was probably a 1988 or 1989 model. I don’t remember, but it was a beautiful bike. Dark blue and way too much power for a teenager to handle. Heck, my Suzuki 650 that I bought four or five years later in Montgomery was way too much for me to handle — but I digress. I was a teenager — maybe the 11th grade — and I don’t want to brag or anything, but I had a motorcycle license. In its wisdom, the state of Alabama wouldn’t allow me to drive four-wheeled vehicles at 14, but drive the far more dangerous two-wheel type? That’s just fine. David was my brother and he spent…
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The Power of a Wrong Word
I’m on a bus in northern Russia. Our small group consisted of my future mother-in-law, a friend named George, and me. We were headed somewhere in town. My Russian skills then, like now, were nonexistent, but I want to tell my mother-in-law something. I needed to tell her the one thing that all women worldwide appreciate hearing from a man. I want to tell her to calm down because well, she did need to. Or so I thought. I turn to George. “George, what’s the Russian word for “relax?” Because what could go wrong? Am I right? We were both single, so neither had any real substantive thought process going…
