Instant replay....

I've been trying to decide what direction this blog is going next. I've been working on stories about my new imaginary characters and got some shocking news about them just yesterday. Debbie told me, as gently as possible, that no one was really interested in old Bert....or Lou....or Frank. People read my stories because I write about growing up in a wonderful era. Lot's of memories have been struck over the years due to my stories and that's what I should stick with....so, Bert, Lou, Frank, and the fat lady at the grocery store in Fort Davis, Texas have all met with their untimely and respected demise. A moment of silence would be appreciated by all at this point.....okay, that's long enough. In an effort to get back on target I decided to go back and read some of my earlier stories....I've got to say, that's some darn good writing for an unlearned soul such as myself. I went all the way back to the first story I told on this blog to try to re-focus. While I work on my reboot I hope you'll enjoy reading this first story one more time.

..................

My little brother, Glenn, was always around. Sometimes it was nice and sometimes I longed for a few minutes to myself. Five kids growing up in a house with less than 900 square feet made it hard to find any time for ourselves. Oh sure, you could hide in the workshop for a few minutes but eventually you would be discovered by one of the others seeking solitude. They would go back inside and tell Momma you were hiding in the workshop studying the lingerie section of the Sears catalog. You would be hauled out by your ear while the tattling sibling slipped into the workshop. Anyway, as I was saying, Glenn was always around.

Glenn was (and still is) one of those guys everyone loves. He was funny, mischievous, and 'cute' according to Mama and a few of the little girls in the neighborhood. All I could see was this little guy who wet his pants a lot and sucked on a bottle until he was old enough to play football with us. As we grew older and discovered girls, cars, and general teenage good times, Glenn and I had less and less in common. He had his friends. I had mine. By the time I was in college I didn't feel like I knew Glenn all that well. When he got into college he let his hair grow and started on an impressive set of sideburns. He became a hippy. He wasn't a very good hippy though because he was raised with morals, a disgust for tobacco, and strict adherence to an alcohol free body. He wore the sandals, sloppy jeans and tee shirts. I think he had a couple sets of beads and he flashed the peace sign to anyone who made eye contact with him.

While the world watched thousands of young men shipping off to Vietnam, Glenn and I enjoyed the relative safety of the college deferment. We wanted to serve our country of course but we did not want to get shot.....of course. We figured the longer we stayed in college the better the chances that particular war would end and we could serve as officers in a good old peacetime army. My world evolved into a marriage and two little kids before the war was over. Glenn's turned into a marriage and a job he hated. We both felt guilt for not serving our country but we had obligations now. People to care for....One day while Glenn was working a co-worker got seriously hurt. Glenn watched the drama unfold and without another word stood up, walked out, and never looked back. He went straight to the Air Force recruiting office and signed up. Glenn's hippy days were over.

The Air Force transformed Glenn on the outside into the man he already was on the inside. I won't go into detail about Glenn's military career....after all, he may decide to blog one of these days. I will simply say Glenn spent most of his adult life serving our country in various parts of the world. He took his family with him and they all gained educations in life unavailable to those of us who remained stationary all our lives.

After his retirement, Glenn started his new career in education. He had hoped to work in a high school setting but the only opening he could find in his small district was for a second grade teacher. Oh well, it was a foot in the door. He discovered quickly how much these little students needed a daddy figure in their precious lives. As much as he wanted to move on up to the high school, his heart was captured by the little ones. He still teaches second grade today even though he swears each year, "this is the last time I'm doing it"! He is a wonderful teacher and takes his role of educator to young minds very seriously.

I am so glad I have had the chance to be the big brother to Glenn. I am very proud of him, his achievements, and especially his selfless life. It's my prayer his golden years will truly be golden.

Another meaningless memory....

 ....happened about the same time my wonderful uncle Frog was teaching me and my cousin Mike to smoke. We were four. We got spanked but Frog managed to get out the door before my mama could catch him. Anyway, it was about this same time our backyard neighbor on Calloway Drive invited mama, Cindy, me, and I guess Glenn, though he was a little thing and easy to forget back then....anyway, these neighbors raised huntin' dogs. In most parts of the world they would be "bird dogs", in Louisiana "coon dogs", but in Texas they're called HUNTIN' dogs. These dogs were valuable and required lots of attention and exercise to keep them in shape to bring in the best price. I don't remember these neighbors' name but the guy had to go out of town on business and left his wife to care for the dogs. She was a little, scrawny young bride and had fits with those dogs. 

One day she had a brilliant idea. On a hot afternoon, rather than leash all these dogs  to let them run along a dirt road behind the house, she would put an open can of dog food on the back bumper of their brand new 1954 Ford and drive off. The dogs would run after the food and get the exercise they needed without her having to work up a sweat. She asked if we wanted to ride along with her. It looked like it was going to be a great adventure. Cindy and I...and I guess Glenn, though I don't remember him being there, sat in the back seat to watch the dogs while skinny neighbor lady (I'll call her "Ms Skinny") and mama sat in the front seat gossiping. We were having a grand old time until tragedy struck.

Ms Skinny wasn't watching the road and managed to hit a huge pot hole in the road. The front left tire hit that hole and shook the whole car causing that opened can of dog food to fall off the bumper and onto the dusty road. It was a bloody, horrible, nightmare causing scene. Those dogs raced for that can as fast as they could. The runt of the litter was the unfortunate winner of the race and dug her nose into the can as the bigger dogs caught up and decided to take charge. It's important at this point to remember that these dogs were ready to sell. They had spent time growing, graduating from huntin' dog school, and putting on height and weight...so the phrase "runt of the litter" should be taken with a grain of salt. These dogs attacked that runt and tore into her. It was a brutal thing to witness. By the time Ms Skinny got stopped those dogs were in no mood to be disciplined by that tiny woman. My mama ran back with her even though she was scared to death of dogs. Together they wrestled the runt away from the bigger dogs and carried her to the car. The poor thing was torn up and bleeding bad. Ms Skinny didn't want to put her in the car because, after all, that car was brand new. It was too far to walk home carrying the dog so she decided to put her on the trunk lid...no rope, no leash, just bloody dog trying to hold on. It wasn't a long drive but that poor dog hadn't mastered the art of trunk lid riding and she was slipping all over that Ford's trunk lid. Cindy and I tried to tell Ms Skinny the dog was making a terrible mess on that trunk but she yelled back that she would wash it before Mr Skinny got home from his trip. 

Cindy and I should have given a better description of "terrible mess" I reckon because what we watched was one bleeding dog scraping and scratching like crazy to not fall off while the rest of the dogs ran behind jumping up on the back of the trunk and bumper trying to get another bite in on the loser. It wasn't a pretty sight. The back of that new Ford was destroyed. I felt sorry for Ms Skinny but felt worse for that dog. She was so scarred up by the time the vet got through with her there was no way she would ever be worth selling. I don't know what became of that poor dog but I bet wherever she is, she's still telling her grandkids about that fateful day    

Bert Catches Up...

 Hi Frank,

I figured I owed you an update on life in Fort Davis. I haven't run into any more rattlesnakes but one big old bullsnake took a few years off my life when I stepped on him out by the garage. The rule is "you leave bullsnakes alone because they eat rats". Well I'm here to tell you I left that snake alone because it nearly scared the pee, waddle, and doo out of me. He slithered off on his own eventually. I don't know if I'm going to be real comfortable out here if I see many more snakes. You know I hate snakes! At least that monster tarantula hasn't been around anymore. 

I finally got all my stuff delivered from UPS. It cost me a small fortune to get everything delivered that I couldn't fit into that old Chevy pickup. I feel like I've finally settled into my new "home" now. I even tried my hand at cooking myself a meal last night. More about that later.

I made my first run to the grocery store this week. It's a little bit easier buying for just one....depressing and all but at least I got two years experience shopping while I was caring for Velma. I did my shopping at the Stone Village Market. It sure wasn't a Super Walmart but I found everything I thought I needed. Nice people at the store...friendly and helpful but I will have some fear the next time I go there. As soon as I got there and picked up a cart I noticed an elderly lady struggling with her heavy cart. I offered to help her get her groceries to the car and I think she thought more of it than I intended. She is evidently one of the wealthy widows in town. Her car was a sleek, new black Cadillac. There wasn't a spot of dust on it so I assume she could afford for someone to keep it clean for her. I've found it impossible to keep dust off my truck. Anyway, I pushed her cart for her and then put all the bags in the trunk of the car. She stood by constantly thanking me, like it was a real treat to have someone help her like that. I think she fell in love with me right there in the parking lot. Before I could get away from her I had to turn down a five dollar tip, suffer through an uncomfortable hug, and a quick kiss on the cheek. Then she told me she wanted to have me over for dinner sometime soon. I may have to move to Marfa! 

I got home from the store and it was already getting dark. I didn't really want to go out to eat dinner again because to tell the truth, I'm putting on a few pounds already. I decided to cook up my Sunday night special I used to make for Velma and me. I opened up a can of tomato soup and got it going then heated up an old cast iron frying pan I found in the pantry. (Someone is probably wondering what happened to their prized frying pan.) This kitchen isn't anything like what we had back home. It's laid out all wrong for me but I reckon I'll get used to it. I didn't pack a lot of Velma's kitchen stuff. Most of it sold in my moving sale but I did keep one long-handled ladle. I had it resting in the soup pot while I got my grilled cheese put together. I remembered I needed to stir that soup and reached over to the ladle. That ladle was closer than I realized and I hit that handle causing a whole ladle filled with hot tomato soup to fly out of the pot, on to the floor....and the cabinet door...and my shirt and jeans. I even found some on my socks.  I got the mess all cleaned up and grilled my sandwich without burning it. When I went to get a plate for the sandwich I hit that cotton-picking ladle handle again and had a repeat performance of the evening's entertainment. I couldn't believe I did that. I sat down and ate my sandwich with a few Fritos, cleaned up the mess...and myself again, and tossed that long-handled ladle in the trash. I hope there's a Dollar Store here in town cause that was my only kitchen utensil. I had to toast the grilled cheese using my pocketknife.....and had I successfully heated up a pot of tomato soup I would have discovered I also didn't have a spoon....or soup bowl. I guess I better make up another shopping list and get some basics bought before I try to cook again. I don't think I'm going to like cooking on a regular basis. I'm glad the cafe is close and open seven days a week. 

It's kind of depressing rereading this before sending it. It hasn't been a stellar week for me. I'll write again soon...when I might actually have something to write about. I hope you and Irma are well. I would sure like to have a visit whenever you can get away....just let me know you're coming and I'll buy an extra can of soup! Ha

Y'all take care, Bert

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Note from the editor: I told Russell it was okay, and not entirely crazy, to have imaginary friends but to not get too carried away with stories about them. I said, "your readers didn't start reading your stories because they were imagined. You need to stay true to your roots and include a story about your past on a regular basis so you won't lose anyone." He thanked me for my insight and wisdom and said we'd go out for Mexican food tonight!! Yay!!

Bert, Frank, and Lou

 I was a bit surprised, but very appreciative of the positive responses to my last story. I really didn't think anyone would be too interested in my imaginary friends. I figured they would remain hidden in my messy assortment of notes stuffed into the top left drawer of my desk. If you really want to know, I'll first give a quick update on Bert. If you remember, Bert recently moved to Fort Davis, Texas from his home in Fort Worth, Texas. His decision to move was prompted by the death of his beloved wife, Velma. He couldn't stay in their home after she passed so he sold out, moved to a little town in West Texas he had only visited once, but immediately fell in love with the town, the area, and the whole idea of small town life. His letters back home to his best friend and former neighbor, Frank, make up the basis of stories about him. Nothing much of interest has happened for Bert in the past two weeks. He's been busy setting up utilities, emptying all the moving boxes, and of course finding the best place to go for breakfast. He promises himself he will send a note to Frank as soon as the dust settles...especially so he can tell him about his first trip to the grocery store.

Today I want to introduce you to a young man named Lou. Lou is twenty-five, single (again), and at a dead-end path concerning his future. He seems all alone in the world because, well, he is alone in the world. 

Lou never thought his life would take such a sour turn as he was growing up. He had wonderful parents, one brother and two sisters, a plan to become an electrical engineer after college, and lots of anticipation for a full life. When it came time to start college, Lou enrolled at the University of Texas as Arlington. The campus was close to home and several of his friends were going there. Things started to unravel for Lou toward the end of his freshman year though. His dad was offered an opportunity to move up the corporate ladder with his company, but only if he would relocate to Detroit. Lou's dad grabbed the chance to make more money and told the family to get ready to move. His sales pitch to Lou was, "Hey man, Ann Arbor is really close to Detroit. In fact, we might even choose to live there. You can transfer to the University of Michigan to start your second year of school. You'll love it!" Despite this sales pitch, Lou wasn't interested in leaving Texas. He bargained with his dad to stay behind to finish school by finding a small apartment close to campus and paying less to stay at UTA. He even proposed he would be willing to pay his own living expenses, rent included, if he could just stay in Texas. You could have knocked him over with a feather when his dad agreed. The only stipulation was if getting a job to cover living expenses caused his GPA to drop by even a point, he would be moving to Detroit with the family.

Lou loved his family but he was really excited to be getting his own place. He quickly found a job at a Kroger grocery store and signed a lease for a tiny loft in an older apartment building close to UTA. His parents left for Detroit after selling the house Lou grew up in and Lou moved into the little closet he would now call home. It seems like all was well for the whole family and Lou never looked back with regrets. He liked his job at the grocery store because he worked nights and had plenty of time for his classes and study. He kept his GPA right where it should be after the second semester and enrolled for a full load the following fall semester. 

Life was good....well, things were actually better than good. During the summer Lou was invited to a party thrown by one of the older students. It so happened that a certain baby sister of said older student had been instrumental in getting Lou to the party. She had met Lou at the Kroger while shopping and immediately "fell in love". Her name was Dana. She was eighteen, kind of tall but drop dead gorgeous with her stylish outfits, brilliant red hair and flawless complexion. I'll note here that the description I gave was from Lou. I never actually met the girl. Dana quickly became Lou's downfall in college. Her parents were loaded and Dana was the very spoiled little sister. It didn't take long before Lou was spending more time with Dana than he spent studying, working, and even sleeping. He was smitten!

As the fall semester began, Lou told Dana he had to concentrate on keeping his GPA where it was supposed to be. She either didn't quite understand the situation or really didn't care. She kept trying to keep Lou all to herself and a nineteen year old boy is going to opt for girl over grades...every time. It didn't take long before Lou realized he was in trouble. He had to get busy and bring his grades back up. Dana still didn't back off. She was going to a local junior college because, "Daddy said I have to go to college. I don't know why because I don't plan to ever work!" Her twelve hours of freshman classes weren't hard to keep up with and she didn't think Lou's eighteen hours should take any longer. Oh, and she hated the idea of her boyfriend working as a clerk at a grocery store. She also hated the ancient loft Lou called home. After just one semester Lou had to tell his dad he had blown the GPA. He also had to tell Dana he would be leaving for Detroit after he completed his sophomore year.  

This isn't the end of Lou's story. It's only the beginning. To find out what really broke Lou, you are invited to "stay tuned" for the next episode. 

Oh Baby, It's Cold Outside...

... ten degrees to be exact. If I had wanted to experience ten degree weather I would have caught a flight to my cousin, Kitty's farm in North Dakota. Sorry Kitty, I love you, miss you, and all, but I don't want to see you that bad. I've been up since five o'clock. This has been happening more and more lately and to be honest I'm kind of tired of this new trend as well. Up at five to look out and see the snow on the ground and the mercury so low I can't see it on my patio Coca' Cola thermometer makes me a bit angry. I have done all my Bible reading, polished off a pot of coffee, ate two fried eggs and cleaned up my mess, and I'm sitting here wondering what else to do with my time. Debbie is smart. She's still in that nice warm bed sleeping deeply and probably dreaming of the two of us romping along a sunny beach somewhere. Or maybe it's just her romping because I haven't been able to romp since I broke my leg ten years ago. I have nothing of importance to do today. It's way too cold to work in my shop. I've already got my income tax info ready and I've finished ten more books off my "to read" stack recently so I'm tired of reading. What to do? What to do? Oh! I know! I'll bore all of you to death for a bit. 

You may not believe this about someone as intellectual as me but I have two imaginary friends. One of them is an old guy like me and he's just recently been left a widower.  His name is Bert. Bert also has an imaginary friend named Frank. I make up stories about Bert and then Bert writes to his friend and old neighbor, Frank. Frank gets a kick out of Bert's letters because that old Bert does have a witty way about him, even with his recent tragic loss.

My other imaginary friend is a young guy. Single and just starting out in life away from his foster home, he's struggling with what to do with his newfound freedom. His name is Lou. Lou is just eighteen and not really a friend. He's too young to develop a friendship with an old toot like me but he needs me to create his story...poor guy. He's going to lead a boring life if he's depending on me. 

I created Bert about two years ago and added his friend Frank at the same time. I don't know much about Frank. I just read the letters Bert writes to him. Lou is new to my weary brain. I'm still struggling with his direction in life so enough about him for now. I did just read a short letter from Bert and I'll pass it along if you're interested:

Dear Frank,

I sure do miss the old neighborhood and our weekly visits for coffee and cigars out in your workshop. I wish I hadn't felt the need to get away but after Velma's passing the house was too empty and filled with too many memories of her last days. I know she isn't suffering anymore and that gives me comfort but I'm not sure this void left in my life will ever be filled.

I did make it out to Fort Davis without any car trouble. I wasn't sure that old pickup would make it without leaving me stranded at least once but it did okay! I've rented a little place a little ways out of town that has a detached two-car garage. I'm hoping to use the garage for a workshop and maybe find an old car to restore. Velma never wanted me to have an old junk car sitting in the driveway so I guess now's the time! I have plenty of room here. Lot's of.....dirt. To be honest there's lots of bare dirt and sand on my little rented property but there's lots of room and a great place to set an old wreck right in front of that garage. I figure I'll strip down whatever I find and move the parts into the garage to work on til it's all ready to reassemble. This might just be a dream but that's my plan for now.

I'm trying out a little cafe in town this morning. I hope they make good, strong coffee. I hate weak coffee. I hope to meet at least one person to talk to at the cafe. The folks out here seem friendly and are quick with a smile and a "hello" but so far no one has bothered to introduce themselves or ask about this newcomer to the area. I hope I haven't made a mistake about Fort Davis. I always wanted to move out west and this is about as far west as I cared to go and still stay in Texas. I've already killed one rattlesnake in the yard and chased off a stray dog making a home in my garage. I don't like snakes....especially rattlesnakes. I get the willies just thinking about it. If I see another one I'm gonna wish I hadn't chased off that old mangy dog.

Sorry for this boring rambling. If you hadn't guessed, yes, I'm lonely. I'll let you know how my first trek to town works out.

Your old buddy, Bert

ps: I left this letter laying on the table when I went for breakfast. You won't believe this: When I walked out on the porch to leave I saw the biggest tarantula I've ever seen just sitting there grinning at me. I decided to turn around and leave by the back door. It was gone when I got home and now I'm worried it's inside the house and will crawl across my face sometime in the night. I may have chosen poorly when I chose to move to west Texas. Snakes and tarantulas already! Willies, willies!!!

B

I'll tell you now that Bert did stay in Fort Davis. He made friends with the family down the road, got a part time job at the hardware store, and struggled to keep the little old widow ladies at bay. If you want to read more of Bert's ramblings to Frank let me know. If not, I'll keep them to myself. Oh, and if you have any suggestions for Lou's direction in life I would love to hear them. Write me on the blog page or email.

Blowin' In The Wind...

 I'm sitting here in my nice warm house with my nice hot coffee while watching the wind work on removing the remaining leaves from my trees. The sound of the wind is what makes me nostalgic. When I was still in elementary school my dad was transferred to New Mexico to work on a "special project". I didn't know it was only a temporary move so I made the mistake of falling in love with my new state. What we were experiencing was magical to me. I found my home! It was magical for my mom too. She loved it so much she would sit and stare out the windows, cry, and wipe more dust off the window seals. It was wonderful! I would fall asleep at night listening to the wind. It was so peaceful. 

My brother, Glenn, and I embraced New Mexico for all it was worth. I'm not sure I ever saw my mom or three sisters step outside during our stay out there but Glenn and I loved it. It seems there were things provided by nature itself to entertain us. Our first excited find was what some called "tumbleweeds". We knew these were actually manna from heaven and we tried to collect every weed that rolled by. We wore ourselves out trying to catch them all before they got away. We needed a good place to store our collection of course so we used the garage daddy had so thoughtfully added to the plans of our new house. Glenn and I really appreciated that thoughtfulness and we used it daily. Our first use was on the first day daddy went to work...and we hadn't enrolled in the new school yet. We roamed the open spaces, found an alfalfa field close by for our new hiding place, collected tumbleweeds until the garage was so full we were afraid we might damage them if we forced any more in. Who knew how long this tumbleweed blessing might last?

Eventually we had to make that long and much dreaded trek to the new school. It was so far we thought we might need to pack a lunch even though my mom insisted it was less than a quarter-mile across an open field. She walked with us that first day...I guess to make sure we actually went. As much as I loved my new home, I hated my new school. I'm sure I've already bored you with that first day so just as a quick reminder: 1) My brand new shiny-headed crew cut was not the rage in Roswell, New Mexico; 2) I was sporting my new shoes which were off brand Hush Puppies...in olive green: there weren't enough desks in my classroom so I had to sit at the teacher's desk staring at a class of unfriendly faces looking back at me; 3) and of course, it was late enough in the school year that I had grown out of all my clothes. I was immediately branded "high water" because my jeans were so short my argyle socks were the predominate sight down there...no one even seemed to notice my green, off brand Hush Puppies until the newness of high water jeans grew old.

As I sit here remembering all of this I wonder why I get so nostalgic when the wind blows hard enough to hear. I still love the sound though and I still love thinking back on my short time in Roswell, New Mexico.

Well.....doggone it....

...I know I'm not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree but I never thought of myself as a complete dunce. That is until I decided to create a new blog. It's a nice blog, classy, modern, and completely useless. I have been able to post one article on the site and it was just a test run. So, I give up. I will continue to use this old site. It's easy and doesn't make me feel so DUMB!! I will occasionally post on here with a serious comment or two amid the stories I like to write and I hope you like to read. I feel I better not try to be serious today after admitting total failure with my new site. I still have lots of untapped memories so I'm gonna sit here for a minute and try to remember one.......

....long pause, lunch, nap....

Oh yeah, remember when I saw this girl, Debbie Tatom, for the first time? I hate to say it was love at first site because she was only eleven years old and while I didn't have pervert status, I felt like one for noticing this child at church for the first time. I was fourteen don't you know, so I kept my thoughts and comments to myself. In all honesty my attraction to her was completely innocent. I just thought, "What a pretty little girl. I wish she was older."

Time passed and I followed my dreams, my education, and girls, all over the place. My parents were very clear about the order of life. It was pretty simple: Get out of high school. Go to college. Get a job. Get married. Have babies...all in that order. Since I hadn't completed even the first requirement of this assignment I never gave thought to who I would marry. I just figured when it was time the right person would come along. No sense even thinking about it until I aced all the other stuff. The training was supplemented by a secondary responsibility not discussed but definitely understood: No sex til you're married or you will be smitten with either lightning, plague, blindness, or possibly all three. This threat wasn't what kept me from messing up however. The driving force to my straight and narrow was my mom's promise that nothing was better than the wedding night...but only if I kept myself "pure" for it. Now, cut it out. I am not a prude. I just thought this was darn good advice and I promised myself I would follow it.

As I got older and started actually dating girls as opposed to just ogling them and wishing, the thought of long term relationships never entered my mind. After one terrible experience of "falling in love" I avoided serious relationships to the point of being rude and/or thoughtless to those lovely ladies who passed through my life. If I could go back with apologies....well, I probably wouldn't. It would be my luck I would go back say, "Hey I'm sorry I treated you so bad" and she would say, "Who are you?" 

All my experiences having to do with girls always came back to, "What a pretty little girl. I wish she was older." I thought if I ever decided to get serious enough with a girl to consider marriage, she would have to be like that girl I remembered from church. As I got through high school and halfway through college serious thoughts did start to occur. Would this girl be the one I got serious about? The answer was always "no" because things just didn't feel right. I didn't know what it was exactly but I decided to let the Lord handle it. The Lord works in mysterious ways. My brother Glenn was in the same class with this Debbie Tatom. He would make comments like, "She is so rude and stuck up. I can't stand her!" My best friend during these years would continue to say, "I think you need to date Debbie Tatom and no, she isn't too young for you." I would constantly run into her at parties, Jack Clark's Drive-In and other strange encounters.  Glenn would continue to complain about this snotty girl named Debbie, in band with him. 

Then the serious situations started happening. Glenn would ask me to pick him up from marching band practice and I found myself getting there earlier and earlier. It seems I didn't spend much time watching Glenn practice but I did notice Debbie Tatom a lot. Still, I was clueless. 

When my friend from high school came home from college for the Christmas holidays I stopped by to see him one night. He was getting ready to go out with his girlfriend and suggested I come along. I refused of course. Nothing worse than the old third wheel hanging around...especially since my friend hadn't seen his girlfriend for a whole semester. Not gonna happen I responded. He was holding the telephone about to dial when he suggested I call Debbie Tatom. As he called who I assumed was his girlfriend he kept up the Debbie barrage. My argument was the same as always, "She's just too young".  About the time I ended that last sentence, he handed me the phone and said, "Well you better come up with something because she's who I just called." Then he laughed as he walked out of the room. Sorry best friend if you ask me.

I could have hung up of course and no one would have been the wiser. It wasn't my phone and Caller I.D. hadn't been invented anyway. But I didn't hang up. I was intrigued enough to go ahead and talk to her. I apologized for calling so late but would she be interested in going bowling with me and friends? She didn't hang up on me and to my surprise she seemed happy I had called. Well, okay then. I guess I'm going bowling with this girl who's too young for me. I certainly hope I don't get arrested, or shot by her daddy when I show up. The date went better than I thought it would. I had more fun than I had experienced in a long time. She was dressed like a model when I picked her up. She was interesting, funny, beautiful, and she laughed at all my jokes without it seeming to be fake. She wasn't at all stuck up as I had been led to believe. I had found someone I truly enjoyed being with. I was surprised and very pleased. When I got home that evening my brother asked where I'd been. I told him I had taken Debbie Tatom bowling. He rolled his eyes and said, "Not Debbie Tatom! Why'd you have to go and take Debbie Tatom out? Don't you know she's a stuck up snob?" I had to disagree with him and told him it was the best date I had ever had. He tried to make me promise I would never take her out again but I couldn't make that promise. I didn't know if she would ever agree to go out with me again but I was sure going to try. 

As a summary to this too long story, I'll try to answer some unasked questions: Was Debbie a stuck up snob? Nope, she was blind as a bat but wouldn't wear her glasses except when she was driving. She just couldn't see anyone when walking down the hall at school. Did Glenn ever forgive me for taking her out? Yes, eventually but first he had to tell me she was already telling friends at school that she had gone out with the guy she was going to marry. Did we eventually get married? Oh yeah, we did. About a year and a half later. I was a junior in college. She was a senior in high school. She graduated in January and we married in February. 

I'm sitting here now looking over at my seventy year old bride. She's also the mother of two grown men and the grandmother of eight perfect kids, ranging in ages from twenty-one to seven. She's also my best friend. She doesn't seem too young for me anymore even though her mother had to go with us to the courthouse for our marriage license. She had to sign for Debbie....because she was just too young for me!

Thank you Lord.