We moved to Hurst in 1955. It was a small town at the time but growing quickly because of the Bell Helicopter plant down on highway 183....which is now highway 10 (and I was not consulted on that change by the way....real hard to talk memories with friends who grew up and moved away!) We bought a new house in a little neighborhood surrounded by farm land, creeks, and woods. It was a young boy's paradise if he could manage to slip away from mama....which I did on a regular basis.
Before we moved in I took a ride with daddy in our old 1950 Chevy. We drove from our home in River Oaks to this new town my parents had found and invested in. I thought we must be driving to the wilderness because after we left the Fort Worth area there was nothing to see but open country. I thought maybe I had done one too many things wrong and I was going to be left at the gate of someone's farm. After a long drive we came to a wide spot in the road which featured a drug store, grocery store, gas station, Texas Electric sub-station, and a small but interesting helicopter factory. I was mostly interested in the sub-station though because it had a tall sign that read, "Live Better Electrically" and featured good old Reddy Kilowatt. I remember that sign because (and please remember I was only five at the time) I read it "Live Butter..something". I could not imagine a stick of butter being alive but I couldn't wait to get a tour.
As we entered our new town we turned off Hwy. 183 onto Precinct Line Road. This little country road led out to the new neighborhood where our house was being completed. We pulled up to the house and I realized we were rich. I hadn't known we were rich until that moment but when I saw that huge 900 sq. ft. house with BRICK on the front facade, I knew it for sure. We had to be filthy, stinking rich! My head swelled with pride as I hopped out of that old Chevy and started looking around. We checked out the progress on the inside of the house and daddy confirmed we should be able to move in the next week. Then we walked around the outside of the house and met our new neighbors, the Marions. We didn't know that we had just met life long family friends. They were a great family and they had a kid just my age. This kid was hiding behind Doris and she had to make the kid come out to meet us. She called the kid "Sandy" so I knew for a fact my new neighbor was a boy who would help me tame this wilderness around us. Well, Sandy finally appeared and he was a GIRL. Oh, the horrors. We had to move in next to a GIRL!
We got moved in finally and it didn't take long for my sister, Cindy, and I to get to know Sandy. As it turned out Sandy was a pretty good old girl. She was a bona fide tomboy. We had a great first summer in Hurst!
Sandy was only six but she already had a bicycle. I wanted a bicycle more than a next breath but I didn't have a clue how to ride one. Sandy's bike was an ancient English bike with skinny tires, three speeds, and hand brakes. I was kind of embarrassed for her but granted, she did have a bike and all I could boast about was one roller skate. Sometimes I would put on my skate and grab a hold of Sandy's bike for a ride to the top of the hill. Then I could coast back down on my skate looking like a flesh colored flamingo with worn out blue jeans. I was a happy guy!
Sandy always parked her bike on the carport....yes, we had carports. Those poor people over on Greenbriar in River Oaks had to park their old Chevy's in a driveway with no protection from the elements....yessir, rich! Anyway, Sandy's bike didn't have a normal kick stand. It sat straight up with a stand mounted on the back wheel. If you moved forward with the bike the stand would pop up out of the way. I used to get on that bike and ride for miles with the kick stand in place. I didn't know what else to do with the bike since no one would teach me how to ride. I begged Sandy to teach me but she always answered with the sage advice, "Just get on it and go. You'll learn real quick how to ride." I didn't believe her of course. Would you believe that? O course not.
One day I wandered over to the Marion's carport to get in my daily bike ride. I noticed Sandy had parked the bike facing out toward the road rather than facing the house. I didn't think too much about it and actually enjoyed riding in a different direction for a couple of minutes. I didn't hear Sandy sneaking up behind me. She gave that bike a kick and off the stand it went. I heard her and Cindy laughing hysterically as I swerved down the driveway to certain death but, before I got to the road I got control of the bike. I was riding a bicycle for crying out loud. I managed to get it turned around and back to the driveway before falling over. Sandy gave me my first ever, "See, I told you so". Every female I ever knew said that to me at one time or another but this first time I didn't mind. Good old Sandy had taught me how to ride a bike. I turned it back around, put it back on the stand, and told Sandy to give me another push. That's when she rolled her eyes and said, "Oh good grief". I got that from nearly every female I ever knew too. It was another two miserable years before Cindy and I got our first bikes but, and this is a big BUT, we did get new roller skates that next year.
Thursday, October 24, 2019
Saturday, October 12, 2019
Don't Poo Poo The Diarrhea...
I realize my stories are beginning to show up slower than I promised but I'm afraid I'm running out of stories to tell.....well, that's not entirely true. I have lots more stories I could tell....like the blind date I set up for my cousin who was so homely (the date, not my cousin) that he ran off the porch when she opened the door...but I won't tell that. Or, I could tell about passing out on a hanging bridge in Colorado because of my fear of heights only to be saved by my lovely wife...but that's too embarrassing. I could make stuff up because I have a vivid imagination but then the stories wouldn't be the same. I do have one more embarrassing story to tell about myself and then I'll just have to wait to do something else stupid before writing again.
It's a true fact that someone in either my dad's, or my mother's family suffered from a nervous stomach, spastic colon, or some other like condition. I know this because my sister, Cindy, and I both inherited the gene. I only got a small inheritance which rears its ugly head occasionally but poor old Cindy got the bulk of the estate. I wanted to tell a story linked to this endearing quality but I thought it best to check with my editor (Debbie) first. We met over coffee this morning and discussed the best way to tell the story. The editor suggested strongly that I not use the word diarrhea in my story. I should instead phrase it like "a bit of sickness". I agree I shouldn't say diarrhea but her suggestion seemed too burdensome, so I decided to substitute the word "discomfort" for the word diarrhea, which I shouldn't write on public media. Once we figured out how to eliminate the word diarrhea from the story I was all set to go....no pun intended.
Cindy and her husband, Mike, had been transferred to Colorado Springs with the Army. He was an Army captain with the dangerous duty of examining eyes. It was a beautiful setting. When Debbie and I went to visit them it was my first time to see Colorado. I fell in love immediately however, the change in altitude did something to my system and I just didn't feel right for several days. Toward the end of our stay the four of us went north to Denver for sightseeing and other tourist related stuff (I tried to say "tourister stuff" but spellcheck wouldn't allow it). We had dinner at a Mexican restaurant before heading back down I-25 toward Colorado Springs. Mike was driving and everyone was having a great time....except me. I kept having a gurgling sensation in my stomach. It continued to get worse until I finally asked Mike to take the next exit so I could find a restroom. He agreed and immediately forgot my request until I strongly urged him again to pull over as soon as possible. I guess I said this in such a high-pitched frantic way that it scared him and he put the pedal to the floor looking for an exit. Before an exit came up I yelled, "I am about to have DISCOMFORT! Get off the road!" He saw an exit and literally flew off the highway, squealing all four tires as he slid into a gas station. I was out of the car before it came to a complete stop and ran as fast as I could. I bolted through the door of that restroom and locked the door in a nanosecond and hit that stall like a freight train.
The next few minutes were a blur but that stall sounded like a pentecostal revival with all the praying and begging for Jesus to come going on. For a good twenty minutes I pulled my hair, broke out in a sweat, ripped off my shirt, and yelled like a female screech owl during mating season. There were three hairline fractures to the toilet bowl and the lights flickered on and off. Finally things calmed down and as I caught my breath, unwrapped my shirt from around my head and opened my eyes.....I saw pink floor tiles....matching pink wall tiles....matching NO URINAL anywhere in sight. I had run into the women's restroom. I said "oh discomfort! What have I done?" Surely nobody will notice me this late in the night. I'll just put my shirt back on, wash up, and quietly sneak out....which I did....to about fourteen women in various states of despair waiting for me to come out. I could see Debbie, Cindy, and Mike in the car laughing uncontrollably like this was funny or something. I apologized to the ladies for making them wait and suggested they continue to wait a few minutes before going in....
It's a true fact that someone in either my dad's, or my mother's family suffered from a nervous stomach, spastic colon, or some other like condition. I know this because my sister, Cindy, and I both inherited the gene. I only got a small inheritance which rears its ugly head occasionally but poor old Cindy got the bulk of the estate. I wanted to tell a story linked to this endearing quality but I thought it best to check with my editor (Debbie) first. We met over coffee this morning and discussed the best way to tell the story. The editor suggested strongly that I not use the word diarrhea in my story. I should instead phrase it like "a bit of sickness". I agree I shouldn't say diarrhea but her suggestion seemed too burdensome, so I decided to substitute the word "discomfort" for the word diarrhea, which I shouldn't write on public media. Once we figured out how to eliminate the word diarrhea from the story I was all set to go....no pun intended.
Cindy and her husband, Mike, had been transferred to Colorado Springs with the Army. He was an Army captain with the dangerous duty of examining eyes. It was a beautiful setting. When Debbie and I went to visit them it was my first time to see Colorado. I fell in love immediately however, the change in altitude did something to my system and I just didn't feel right for several days. Toward the end of our stay the four of us went north to Denver for sightseeing and other tourist related stuff (I tried to say "tourister stuff" but spellcheck wouldn't allow it). We had dinner at a Mexican restaurant before heading back down I-25 toward Colorado Springs. Mike was driving and everyone was having a great time....except me. I kept having a gurgling sensation in my stomach. It continued to get worse until I finally asked Mike to take the next exit so I could find a restroom. He agreed and immediately forgot my request until I strongly urged him again to pull over as soon as possible. I guess I said this in such a high-pitched frantic way that it scared him and he put the pedal to the floor looking for an exit. Before an exit came up I yelled, "I am about to have DISCOMFORT! Get off the road!" He saw an exit and literally flew off the highway, squealing all four tires as he slid into a gas station. I was out of the car before it came to a complete stop and ran as fast as I could. I bolted through the door of that restroom and locked the door in a nanosecond and hit that stall like a freight train.
The next few minutes were a blur but that stall sounded like a pentecostal revival with all the praying and begging for Jesus to come going on. For a good twenty minutes I pulled my hair, broke out in a sweat, ripped off my shirt, and yelled like a female screech owl during mating season. There were three hairline fractures to the toilet bowl and the lights flickered on and off. Finally things calmed down and as I caught my breath, unwrapped my shirt from around my head and opened my eyes.....I saw pink floor tiles....matching pink wall tiles....matching NO URINAL anywhere in sight. I had run into the women's restroom. I said "oh discomfort! What have I done?" Surely nobody will notice me this late in the night. I'll just put my shirt back on, wash up, and quietly sneak out....which I did....to about fourteen women in various states of despair waiting for me to come out. I could see Debbie, Cindy, and Mike in the car laughing uncontrollably like this was funny or something. I apologized to the ladies for making them wait and suggested they continue to wait a few minutes before going in....
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