-
Happy Paternal Unit Day, Papa
As a new paternal unit, I pondered what I wanted to be called by our children. For some reason, I wanted them to call me Papa. I’m not sure why. Maybe because that’s what their mother had always called her paternal unit in Russia where she was born and raised. Papa. I liked the sound of it. Like millions of families, our girls heard a mixture of two languages in their first few years. The one I liked to hear was, “Papa.” “Where’s Papa?” “Papas’ home.” “Papa’s going to class.” “Go tell Papa we’re ready to eat.” “Papa’s going to read you a story.” I very much loved being called…
-
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…
-
Invasive Plants and Future
I ran across this little popcorn tree a few days ago. As strange as this may sound, I miss them. (Yes, I do know that they are an invasive species, but go with me here.) This one is growing in a field next to our apartment complex. For it to be here, there must have been another such tree nearby. Reasonably close, anyway. Maybe the wind blew a seed here. Maybe a bird thought that this field needed a new Chinese Tallow tree. Maybe the rain, I don’t know. I miss them because, on our little half-acre lot in southwest Alabama, we had three such trees. All of them, to…
-
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…
-
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…
-
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…
-
Toxic Shame and You Can Too
It’s around noon on a Sunday. I’m 14 years old, sitting in my dad’s Chevrolet work truck, which (and I don’t mean to brag too much here) is equipped with some fancy modern technology that I’m currently using. An 8-track tape player. Don’t be jealous. The speakers are vibrating with the comedic genius of a couple of dope-smoking hippies. I’m laughing and having an awesome educational enlightening time when quite unexpectedly, a short and very angry woman appears at the passenger door. She stands (as best she can at 5 feet 2 inches) at the truck and proceeds to pound on the window. I pause the tape player and slowly…
-
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.…
-
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…
-
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,…
