One more car memory....

 All this talk about new cars has got my memory cells working in overdrive. I'm reminded of the time I challenged a co-worker at the grocery store to a drag race. He was a pompous, snot-nosed, spoiled, perfect complexion, well-rounded personality type that none of the rest of us could stand. He had his pick of any of the girls he chose to date without losing a drop of nervous sweat over the possibility of a rejection. He was the guy we loved to hate. His name was Ray Bands.....I kid you not. Oh sure, he probably adopted the "Ray" from Raymond or some other ill-fitting nomenclature but the name stuck. Ray Bands was at the top of his game in the year 1967 when all the rest of us were still trying to figure out what it was that made girls run in horror from us if we showed them the least amount of attention.

I still don't remember what weird feeling came over me the day Ray was at the store on one of his many days off, showing off his newest purchase, a baby blue 1957 Chevy, two door hardtop, 327, 4 speed on the floor.....mint....not a scratch or flaw of any kind. It was the car I had dreamed of whenever I wasn't dreaming of the lovely Melba Peach from sixth grade miraculously walking into the store wearing her Hurst Jr. High cheerleader outfit even though we had left junior high behind years before.....I'm sorry, where was I? Anyway, I couldn't stand it that he had everything he ever wanted....he had probably even dated Melba Peach at some point in the past. During his rundown on the overall qualities of his new purchase, I had all I could take. I said to him, "Ray, it's pretty and all but I just bet I can beat you on a quarter mile drag race!" 

Let me say at this point in today's story, I'm reminded I have already told you all about this race. You remember of course, Ray laughed at me and my 1953 Studebaker, six cylinder, 3 speed on the floor conversion. Laugh he might...but I happened to have driven my dad's 1960 Bonneville to work that day. Having accepted my challenge, we walked out to the parking lot where I quickly left Ray and his puny little 327 in the dust. I never told my dad I had raced his Pontiac so I am still alive today to talk about it. Ray never spoke to me again, which was not a problem for me but he also stole my girlfriend du jour to put me back in my respective place on his imagined social ladder. 

This is just another story about other people's cars. I personally have never owned anything worth talking about but I can sure brag about all the cars others in the family have owned. I won't do that though. I'm a humble sort of guy.

The Car....

 I 'need' a new car. Oh, I know I don't really NEED a new car, but I want a new car. I haven't bought a new car in seventeen years. I did receive the gift of a newer pickup several years ago from my son, Cody. He got tired of worrying about me driving an ancient, rusted out pickup with 300,000 miles on it and insisted on replacing it with a nearly new Chevy Silverado, which I will never be able to wear out in this lifetime. He's a good little boy. Anyway, I still need a new car because the FAMILY car which Debbie drives and occasionally wrecks is in  need of replacement. We bought it new in 2007 and figured we would get a few good years out of it. Debbie wrecked it three times over the years and still picks up a ding or two about every time she gets out. It has over 100,000 miles on it but still runs like new. I've never had to pay for anything on it other than oil changes, tires, and a battery or two. I've never even done a tune up on it. It just runs and runs....and I'm sick of looking at it. Nobody drives a car for seventeen years. It just isn't done! Why won't it die?!?! Debbie loves her little car and gets nervous whenever I talk about getting rid of it. She just doesn't understand. I need to see something new parked in the garage. Something with more bells and whistles than her little Kia Sportage has would be nice. Something with some safety features like those available on newer cars like backup cameras, lane change alerts, and "hey you crazy woman, you're about to hit that car in front of you" alerts. And, I don't care what Debbie says, when we finally shop for another car, I am going to have the final say in what we buy. It will probably be our last new car and she's picked out the last two we've bought over the years. I want something really nice.....I always thought a Caddy would be a nice retirement type car but there are so many other classy cars on the road I'm open to suggestions. I will not buy another boring little economy thing with silver paint and tiny little wheels. I want a real car!!! 

Growing up in the 50's and 60's was so simple. The dad would decide what to drive. He would shop for it. He would care for it. He would never allow the wife to control the use of it. It was the FAMILY car. He would faithfully wash and wax it and then trade it for a newer model every two to three years. That's how it was done. There were no other family vehicles unless you lived on a farm and needed a 'plain-jane', six cylinder step side (pickup) to go from farm to market. This vehicle would never be sold or traded in. It would be used until there wasn't another mile left to be driven in it, at which time it would be parked in the corner of a nearby pasture to rust away into oblivion. The family car though was special. It told the neighbors of the success and wealth of the owner. It always gleamed in all it's shiny chrome and vivid colors. It would never be driven more than three years because the new models always had so much more to offer and successful families did not drive old vehicles unless times were really bad. Even then, the family car would be replaced occasionally just because.....you know, just because!!

Nowadays, all the cars look the same. One year all of them are silver, one year they're all gold, some years black comes back into style but there are never any flaming red or bright yellow cars introduced. And, all the cars look the same....similar to a bar of soap going down the road. No one actually has just one car either. There is the "family" car, driven by the mom and occasional frustrated teenager. The dad always has his own "work" car. In most cases there are "the kids" cars, and some really upscale families have "for fun" cars. These are usually off road, funky, and all utility. Every family needs one. We don't have one.....

Growing up, we were toted around in big, powerful, fancy cars. They weren't always new but they for sure always looked new. Driving around in a dirty car was just....well, it was just not done. The first car I remember was a 1950 Chevy, mint green with a dark green top. This was replaced with a 1955 Pontiac Star Chief, two door hardtop with all leather interior. It was a beauty and a joy to be seen in. After that, we went with a 1960 Pontiac Bonneville. This was our first four door model because with five growing kids there was a need for easier loading/unloading. After that came the 1965 Chevy Caprice. This was the car I got to "borrow" for dates. My dad really loved this car and drove it until he bought a 1972 Chevy Impala, two door hardtop....fancy! He kept the Caprice for his "work" car and only drove the Impala on special occasions. The Impala was eventually replaced with a sleek new Buick Regal. I think this was around 1976 but I'm not sure. It was a beautiful car....quite impressive, but a piece of junk. It never gave us anything but grief and was soon traded in for another big honkin' Buick of some type. I have lost track because by this time I was married and taking care of my own "family" car. My dad continued to buy Buicks until the day we had to take the keys away from him. His heart was broken and he insisted the Buick be parked where he could look at it when he wanted.

I never kept the tradition of trading cars every few years. If I had something dependable, I would drive it until it was no longer dependable then drive it down to Mr. Wright's used car lot and sell it to him for next to nothing. That is how I wound up in the situation I'm in now. I have a seventeen year old car that I'm sick of looking at. It has no value at all. I hate to think of making car payments again, especially since Debbie is still in her destructive driving mode. I could be content with just the Silverado sitting out there. It is one nice ride but I can't imagine letting Debbie drive it. If she would just agree to give up her driving license we could be a one car family. I would get rid of the Kia and have lots more room in the garage. Our insurance rates would be much better because Debbie keeps an up to date accident report on file. The insurance lady told me the only way I can lower my rates is to take Debbie's driver's license away. That would be nice but I'm afraid I would get tired of having to take her for all the woman type stuff she does.....shopping, meeting friends, etc. As much as I would love to be rid of that boring old silver Kia Sportage, I guess it will have to do until it dies and leaves Deb stranded somewhere. Then we go car shopping!!!

AH-H-H, August...

 ...where a young man thinks of getting away from the stifling summer job and getting back to college where life is simple.

....where an old man thinks about getting the heck out of Texas forever or at least until mid-November.

....where you sit around and ponder whether or not someone really could fry an egg on the sidewalk.

....where you try to fry an egg on the sidewalk.

....where you clean up the awful mess on the sidewalk and promise yourself not to fall for stupid old wives tales ever again.

...where an old man thinks back to the early days in life when August was tolerated without air-conditioning....and those were the "good old days".

...where memories drift back to "two-a-days" for the jocks and summer band for the nerds (of which I proudly hold rank).

Yep, August is probably the second most miserable month of the year, with first place held by September. I'll explain: August is the "proclaimed end of summer" yet everyone knows it isn't. It's just another miserably hot month. September is supposed to start "fall" and everyone knows it doesn't. In Texas absolutely nothing changes except the Christmas decorations go up in the big box stores. September is just a tease. On September first mean, thoughtless people start talking about "fall"....oh boy, here comes fall.....football season, falling leaves, gentle cool breezes from the north.....all just a big old pack of lies! 

Oh sure, I know you're tired of my constant complaining....every stinking August the same thing! Can't this guy find anything else to be upset about? No, not really. August and September are the longest, hottest, most boring, anti-climatic, disappointing, and irritating parts of the year. Okay, I'm done. I'm going to try to remember something good to write about.....let me think....let me think.....

....still thinking. It's hard to think when it's so hot outside. Well, I tried to conjure up a memory about a cold time of year but I think I'm kind of stuck in my "I hate August" mode. So, let's share some good memories of August. Anyone, anyone? Okay, I'll start. I was born in August. It happened on a really hot day if I remember right. All Saints Hospital in Fort Worth, Texas was the location and the constant hum of the overhead fans lulled all of us newcomers into a sense of well-being, not to be crushed until it was time to leave the hospital in an old worn out Chevy, without A/C naturally. Swaddling was not recommended by the good sisters at the hospital so that particular comfort was taken away as soon as mama took that ride on the wheelchair to daddy's waiting chariot. I know I must have complained a lot at the time because my dad took off for some peace and quiet in Korea right after getting me home. Had it not been for my good old uncle Frog staying with us during that time my diaper wouldn't have been changed nearly often enough. My older cousin Janell assisted as much as she was allowed but August didn't last forever and Janell had to go back to school. That was her excuse anyway.

Okay, I did survive my first August but the disdain remains to this day. I don't recall very many banner occasions in any of my Augusts. Well, I did have a birthday party at the Sylvania City park when I was seven. I got a belt. It was a dress belt, ultra thin and black. Why do I remember that? I nearly drowned in Lake Worth the August I was nine. I should have known how to swim by that time but I didn't. After that I was too afraid to learn. When I was seventeen I graduated from high school on a hot August night. Six hundred and twenty one of us sat out at Pennington Field  in full gown and mortar board hat waiting to be declared smart enough to function. Other than that these few stellar memories, not much can be said for August. 

It will be September next month and you know what that means?! Nothing, absolutely nothing. I promise I will be in a better mood toward the end of October or early November. Until then, unless I can have a good memory wander in I'll just make stories up about my imaginary friends. It's never August in my imaginary stories. The weather is just about perfect all the time.

Bert, Bert, Bert....What are we going to do with you?!?!

 Hello Frank!

Sorry it's been so long. I'm just such a party animal (haha) it's hard to find time to stop and write. I've been busy around this old place since I bought it last month. I did tell you about that, didn't I? I thought I did. The old guy I had been renting from wanted to sell and I didn't really want to move again so soon. I thought about it for thirty seconds or so and offered to buy it. He grabbed my hand, shook it and said, "SOLD" without even waiting to hear what I was willing to pay for it. It's a good thing too because the number he came up with was about $15000 less than what I would have offered. After we signed the papers and the deed was transferred I went straight to the bank to see about getting a home improvement loan. I'm going to build a four car garage with a second floor apartment. I'm planning to rent out the apartment to cover the loan payments and put a little back for my old age (another ha).

Another big change I'm making is opening up my guest room and extra bath to either a single guy or young married couple to stay. Truth be told Frank, I'm lonely around here and I'm hoping this will be a positive thing. We'll see I guess. Anyway, I thought I would offer free room and board for anyone who can help me get this garage built. I've already had a call from a young guy new to the area. I'm talking to him tonight about taking the offer. He was at the hardware store looking for work and saw my posting on the bulletin board. I could have told him the hardware store wasn't hiring!. I've been trying to get a part time job there ever since I moved out here! 

Jo had been working on the chamber of commerce planning committee for the past couple of months putting a small business fair together. They finally had the fair last week and she asked me to go with her. She would be busy working a booth but I could wander around picking up free key rings, ball point pens, and whatnot til lunch. So that's what happened. Don't ever buy another pen Frank. I've got more than either of us can ever use up. Anyway, at lunch we snuck out and grabbed some chicken-fried steak at the cafe rather than enjoy the free hot dogs offered at the fair. After lunch, she resumed her post and I went back to wandering aimlessly. I did discover that after lunch several Slurpee machines had been set out and free Slurpee's  were available to all! I've never been a huge Slurpee fan but let me tell you, these Slurpee's were FINE!!! I was so impressed with the first one, I immediately grabbed a second. I couldn't figure out what it was about these drinks but I couldn't stop slamming them down. They were so stinking refreshing, and cold, and refreshing, and.....well Frank, guess what. These were not Slurpee machines. They were margarita machines. Have you ever tasted a margarita? You know I'm not a drinker so I was a little embarrassed when a couple of off duty cops offered to help me to Jo's booth. It appears I had been standing in the Lane Bryant booth, dripping Slurpee down my shirt, and singing "La Bamba" when I was escorted out. In between her "ah hail-uhs" and uncontrollable laughter, she informed me I was "drunker than a skunk". I don't know what that means but I do now know what a bad hangover feels like. Never again, never again!!!

Jo and I have been taking those free dance lessons for a few weeks now and let me tell you, I was definitely raised in the Church of Christ. I don't have a dancing bone in my body but it sure has been fun. Next time y'all come out, we'll have to go out "cuttin' the rug".....I also don't know what that means but I've heard it mentioned around me a few times with an attached chuckle. 

I guess I've embarrassed myself enough. I'll go and get ready to interview this kid who thinks he wants to live in my house and build my new garage. 

Y'all take care, Bert

Splash!!

Remember the wonder and amazement of being young, free, and behind the wheel of your very own automobile? No stress, no worries, every day was sunny and bright.....well, that's the way I remember it anyway. There was a short window of time when all those things seemed true and real. I hope all of you got to experience that feeling at least once. Oddly, I'm beginning to feel that way again since I'm old, retired, debt free, and my bum leg isn't acting up too much. Now if the morons in Washington will straighten up their collective acts and play fair, maybe we'll all be able to enjoy some "stress/worry free" days.... sorry, I got carried away there for a minute. I was going to tell a story about the past when all those things had fallen into place for me.

It was the summer of 1968. I had graduated from high school ranked in the top 600 of a class of 621. I remember leaving Bell High School for the last time. It was a beautiful late May morning. My graduation tassel was hanging from my rear view mirror, my windows were all down on the shiny Chevy Impala I had bought with my own money, nice breeze, and all those losers still in high school were sweating away the last week of their semester. I had made a trip to the school to pick up my last letter jacket....yes, I was a letter-man.....don't swoon.....nearly everyone in band had lettered at some point or other and I had managed to do it my senior year. I wasn't too sure that jacket would ever be worn since I was now a COLLEGE MAN but I was still proud to finally get it. It was a perfectly beautiful morning. The whole world was ahead for me....Yay!!

I started my new job at Six Flags the next morning. I was free from my grocery store job, which at the time seemed like a wonderful thing. I wound up missing that place as the college years progressed but in that first summer out of school I was free as a bird!!! 

Now that I'm older and the likelihood of being arrested is minimal, I will admit that the cool Chevy I owned made me drive a lot faster than the law allowed....much, much faster. I couldn't help it. I tried to slow it down but no-o, that sucker liked speed. Everywhere I went I was amazed to get there earlier than planned and in some cases I was amazed I got there at all. My route to Six Flags was down the old farm to market road 157 between Euless and Arlington. It was a nice long and straight stretch of highway and I liked it. 

About two weeks into my daily drive along FM 157 a storm front blew in and it rained so hard one of my neighbors told me he actually saw Noah float by in his ark. I'm not too sure he was telling the truth but I could never prove it. Anyway, it rained so hard during this storm, the river flooded the road and it had to be closed down for a while. This meant I would have to get to work by driving through "the river bottoms" which ironically did not flood. That was over fifty years ago and I still haven't figured out that scenario. The river bottom route was winding narrow roads, deep drop-offs, spooky as the dickens at night, and slow. I couldn't wait for 157 to be opened back up. After a week, the water still hadn't receded enough to open it back up so I was looking at another few days of slow driving. Finally, one morning Mark E. Baby, the KFJZ disc jockey informed us the road was now reopened for slow moving traffic only. I was so excited as I grabbed my stuff for work I may have missed the part about "slow moving traffic only"....pretty sure I did miss it. 

I always drove down the old Hwy 183 from Hurst to Euless like the model citizen I was. Hwy 183 was not a good road for fast driving. FM 157 crossed Hwy 183 right in the heart of "downtown Euless"... HAHAHA....sorry. If you didn't live around here back then you probably didn't catch the humor in that. Anyway, I would turn south on 157 in downtown Euless (snicker snicker) and head for Arlington. About a half mile down the road, 157 would drop down considerably to the lower straight route I loved. I couldn't see the road because an overhead train track was located right over the hill on 157. That morning, as I started down the hill, I opened it up looking forward to an adrenaline filled race to Six Flags. I was already up to about 80 mph when I went under the train tracks and spread out before me was an empty road...except for about two dozen guys working pumps as they struggled to get the last of the water off the road. There was about a hundred yards of road still under water and it could be used but only very, very slowly. As the job foreman pointed out to me as I flew past him, I was going a bit too fast. I hit that water creating the most beautiful arched cascade on either side of my car. The waterworks people in Las Vegas would have been so impressed. There wasn't a dry worker left on either side of the road. I knew it wasn't in my best interest to stop at this point even though some of them probably wanted to congratulate me on my performance. I floored that old Chevy and prayed all the way to dry asphalt it wouldn't stall out on me. By the time I got to the end of the water I must have been going close to 100 mph. I didn't slow down until I reached the other side of the straightaway. In my rearview mirror I could see laborers waving and cheering me on. Some were waving shovels, some were waving only one finger, but all were jumping up and down and screaming their approval. 

I didn't use FM 157 to get to work the rest of that summer. The nice, quiet river bottoms seemed a much more relaxed way to travel.

Poor, Poor, Pitiful Lou...

Lou sat on the front porch of his parents home in Ann Arbor loving the beautiful weather but brooding about his lot in life. After two years of intense physical therapy his doctor had declared him as well as he was ever going to be. If he had been in Texas the doc would probably have said he was "fit as a fiddle". TWO YEARS! How could two years have gone by without even one step in the positive direction of getting his life going again. He thought his life was half used up at twenty-five and he was leaving Fort Worth on the ill-fated bus ride to Alpine. He thought at that time he had used up all his allotted stupid ideas and he could jump start a new life. Now he gloomily considered his current state: Twenty-seven, still no education, still no job, and worst of all, still living with and depending on his parents. Something has to happen.....NOW!!

Taking an inventory of his newest bad decisions he realized his biggest mistake since being carted home from Abilene in the back of his parents' rented van was in not starting back to school when his dad offered to pay for it. If he had he would be well on his way to a four year bachelors degree in....what?! What would he have majored in since his aeronautical engineering path bit the dust at UTA? As he lay in the hospital in Abilene after surgery, Lou was sure he knew what he wanted to do with his life. The emergency response team in Fort Davis had taken such good care of him he had decided to pursue a career as a paramedic. It seemed so far back in time though, he didn't have the same burning desire to do it. Maybe being a super hero wasn't in the cards for Lou. But Lou, old boy, you better come up with an idea soon. The money he received from Greyhound Bus Lines after the accident wasn't going to last forever. His good graces with his parents would fade as well now that he was declared healthy. They wanted to retire and travel and he understood. He didn't want to stay in Michigan. Texas was home and he ached to be back where it was scorching hot most of year, except for the two or three days in late March called "spring". Maybe he should widen his view of available options.....no, Texas it was to be even if he couldn't explain it to his own satisfaction.

A few days later, Lou finished packing up his few personal possessions into the back of the 2007 Kia Sportage his dad had given him, obviously out of pity. The car had been Lou's mom's car and rather than use it as a valueless trade-in, his dad opted to let poor old Lou have it before taking delivery of the new Chevrolet Suburban they had bought for their travels. After all the good-byes, hugs, tears, and uncontrolled gleeful jumping around by his parents, Lou fired up the old Kia and headed for....."home".

Lou decided he wanted to try west Texas again so he set his sights, and GPS of course, on Fort Davis. Maybe this time his luck would be better. Since his window of opportunity for a college education had closed, in his own mind anyway, he thought he might enjoy working at a hardware store. That's where he would start anyway if, and this was a big IF, the old Kia made it that far. It did. He had a few worries along the way and had to buy new front tires in St. Louis, replace a worn strut in Memphis, and worry about overheating all the way from Big Spring to Pecos. He did make it though and the old car was still chugging along as he pulled into the little motel in Fort Davis he would call home until he found a cheap apartment.

After a couple days rest and stretching exercises for his mended leg, Lou headed to the largest hardware store in town in hopes of snagging a job of some sort. He was told by the pretty girl at the cash register that the manager was gone for the day but it didn't matter because they weren't doing any hiring at the moment. Well, so much for improved luck! She did say a few customers posted job openings on the bulletin board next to the entrance if he wanted to take a look on his way out. There wasn't much there. He didn't like the idea of digging fence post holes for the two ranches needing help and mowing Miss Ethyl's yard for the summer wasn't going to cover expenses. He did stop at one listing though. There was a guy in town building a new garage with overhead apartment in the back of his house. The job only paid $20/hour when working, which meant he might go days without any pay. The interesting part of the listing though said, "owner will provide room and board for single man, or young married couple, no kids or pets please!" Lou had none of the above. He also had absolutely no experience in carpentry either but how hard could it possibly be to learn. He decided to apply for the job! He wrote down the information, "for inquiries, call Bert at 555-1212".

Alarming News!!

I was watching one of Debbie's favorite Vlogs on YouTube yesterday. Oh, no I wasn't watching it by myself. Had it been me turning on the TV, we would have been watching "Gunsmoke". However, Debbie got to the remote first so there we sat, watching another episode of "Let's Bore Russell To Tears". 

During this informative Vlog, it was mentioned with an embarrassed chuckle that this Vlogger used to be a Blogger! Can you imagine?! She informed us no one ever Blogs anymore....what a waste of effort on a primitive way to tell a story! I had no idea.....I sincerely apologize for my antiquated method of story-telling and I appreciate each of you who have continued to read this appalling site. Oh well, I couldn't figure out how to create a second blog a few months ago so it's a pretty good bet I'll never figure out Vlogging. If you'll stick with me maybe we can muddle through together.

Back when the earth was still cooling and dinosaurs roamed the area, I was a skinny, invisible student at West Hurst Elementary. I loved West Hurst Elementary. I was moved there from South Hurst Elementary as soon as the doors to the new school swung open. What a treat! The best part of the whole thing was this new school backed up to "the woods". The woods designated the end of the world to those of us brought up in the fairly new suburb of Hurst. We had never been allowed to venture past the open pasture into the woods for fear we would fall off the edge of the world. We played baseball and fought native Americans, which we callously called "Indians", in our beloved field. We were a bit upset when bulldozers began clearing a large part of that field to build a stupid school. Our anger was quelled when we saw the new ball diamond with a real backstop included with the new school campus. Also, tether ball courts were installed. If you don't know about tether ball you are probably a lonely, sad, and empty sort of soul. The best part of the whole thing was most of the pasture and all of the woods were left intact. The fine elected officials serving on the school board still used good sense back then.

The second best part of moving to the new school was the kindness of the builder to leave ALL the big boxes the furnaces came in. I almost said 'the boxes the air conditioners came in' but remembered the era. Schools weren't air conditioned back then...silly writer. Those had to be furnace boxes. They were way too big to hold anything else. Anyway, whatever they were soon became the favorite attraction of every boy and some of the girls newly enrolled. Our recess time became "jump in a box and roll down the hill", over and over again. To clarify, the school was situated fairly close to the road and the field sloped down pretty drastically before leveling off at the new ball park. A worthy student could get up to a good, albeit dangerous, roll before banging into the backstop at the bottom. It was a wonderful way to spend a recess....good exercise, excitement, sweat, dirt....I still miss it!

One day one of my classmates, Rodney something, decided it was time to take a turn in a box roll. Rodney had started the school year out on crutches from a broken leg and although he still had the crutches he felt confident he could do it. I was dragging my box back up the hill when I saw Rodney climb into his box for his first trip down the hill. The launch was courtesy of a couple of sixth graders with less than honorable intentions. Rodney came down that hill over and over at a speed unknown to us experienced box rollers. His first crutch flew from the box after the first tumble. His second made it to the third roll. After that it was just Rodney, a broken leg, and intense screaming left in the box. Poor guy. He really shouldn't have done that. He got carried off to the hospital to have that leg reset and we were banned from all future box rolls down the hill. Someone on the school staff carted the boxes off to the dump that night and they were never seen again. So sad....oh sure, we were sorry for Rodney too but doggone it, he should have known better.

After the Rodney incident our recesses were limited to softball...not even real ball but SOFTball of all things. We could opt for tether ball but since none of us knew what that was we stuck to softball. A lot of the girls decided to let an ambitious, and obviously newly graduated teacher, coach them on how to play tether ball. Within just a few days all the tether ball posts were in use and lines formed for a turn at what was undoubtedly one of the best games ever! Soon, even the guys were wandering away from the ball field to get a turn at tether ball. I eventually caved and got in line myself after watching all the glee coming from those six tether ball posts for a week or so. Oh my goodness! I had never played anything as much fun as tether ball. It became an obsession for all of us and fights eventually broke out as newcomers tried to "buck the line". If you don't understand the phrase 'buck the line', you have led a deprived and lonely life I'm sorry to say.

Some days it was too rainy for tether ball. The courts were just too muddy to allow us to play. The cold days however were perfect for the game because it hurt like the dickens to punch that ball with frigid hands. Most girls and some of the sissy boys chose to stay indoors on cold days. I, and most of my really manly friends would be out there for a good tether ball workout regardless of the cold...and we didn't have to let anyone else play....no lines....silly girls. By spring, we were tether ball masters. We could not be beaten. My dad installed a tether ball post in our backyard and the only way I could be beaten was if one of my sibs complained I was hogging the post...or if my next door neighbor Sandy came over to play. She could put me in my place real fast. Thinking back on it, I'm not real sure Sandy was really a girl. She may have been a guy who always wore dresses and beat me at everything we attempted. She even hit me with a left hand hook one day causing me to see stars and hear little birds chirping around my head. I loved that girl but I kept it a secret for fear she might just be a guy. The last I heard, Sandy was a full professor of math at the university, married, with three very mean and tough little girls. She probably still plays tether ball and beats up neighbors. You just never know for sure....

Leaving West Hurst Elementary to go to Hurst Jr. High was tough. I did miss recess but before too much time had passed I discovered a new interest....girls. And so the story continued....