A Continuing Story.....

 Okay Carter, after you've read two or three more of these you'll probably wonder why in the world you ever asked for it. Too bad, so sad. You asked for it and you're gonna get it. Mammy and I were having dinner last night at one of our favorite places and talking about this story I'm working on. In the first installment I wrote about the range of emotions I felt when my brand new baby boy was placed in my arms. I was telling about the experience and in this festive, loud revelry I teared up and cried. THAT's how it felt. It was wonderful, scary, did I say wonderful? I think I did. It was an experience everyone should have the privilege of enjoying at least once in a lifetime. I was fortunate to experience it twice. 

When Jamie was born, he came into the world screaming.....almost as loud as his mother. Back in those days the expectant fathers weren't allowed in the delivery room. We had to stay in a room with a TV (like who wants to watch TV when you're having a baby), lots of ash trays, the ever present gray tobacco smoke hanging over our heads, and a solemn elderly and usually grossly overweight attendant keeping watch over us so we didn't get away. Now our baby was supposed to come to us via caesarean section because Mammy was a type I diabetic and it was believed a C section was the safest method of delivery for a diabetic. The reason was two-fold. First, diabetic mothers needed to have that baby out earlier, usually eight months rather than nine because of the little pumpkin growing in her belly began to produce it's own insulin which made it dangerous for the mother. The second reason was more practical. Diabetic mothers tended to grow bigger babies in less time than the norm. Jamie tested both these fears when he came into the world. First of all, Mammy was expecting to be comfortably "put to sleep" thus avoiding all that delivery pain most new mothers experienced. Unfortunately, Jamie decided he was ready to come out hours before the scheduled C-section. In one of my many laps around that new father waiting room I clearly heard my darling wife screaming, "This isn't supposed to be happening to me!" Those nurses changed gears real fast when Mammy came up off that bed. They "put her out" in a hurry. It was a good thing too because, believe it or not, Mammy was a relatively small young lady at the time and this half-grown linebacker was trying to join the world. 

Jamie weighed 10 lb 1-1/2 oz at birth and was 23-1/2 inches long. He broke the length record for Harris Hospital at the time and if I remember right he also beat the weight record. Since he decided to come out on his own rather than wait for the scheduled surgery, the surgical team was gathered quickly but not before he tried to force his way out. The procedure was performed at a record pace and Jamie was born the way God intended, Caesarean Section. His antics before the operation though caused the little fella to have a lopsided head which was no small concern to us but perfectly normal according to the doctor. He was also fat....and I mean he was FAT!!! Usually when a newborn arrived one of the nurses would come to the fathers' waiting room to take the proud daddy back to see the baby. In our case, the doctor came out to get me. I think he had some "splainin" to do and he wanted to prepare me. When I got to the window to see my new son I saw this big, really big baby lying on his tummy with his head turned to the side. There was a huge crease down the middle of his face and a lopsided head completed the view. The doctor already had hold of one of my arms as I lost my ability to stand up straight. He was quickly explaining to me that diabetic babies were normally large babies. Jamie was no different. He sure looked different. The doc explained the crease down his face was just excess fat creasing his face due to the way he was laying. I regained my composure then and stared with awe at what the Lord had given us.

Mammy was in the hospital for a week after Jamie was born and they graciously allowed him to stay there with his mother rather than come home with me. In fact, they laughed when I asked if I should drive my car up to the front door, all the while thinking, "I sure hope mama or Mrs. Tatom will help me until Debbie gets home". Like I have mentioned before, we were way too young to be having babies. During this week Jamie lost his extra weight in the face, WHEW!, and his head regained its natural shape. He became a beautiful little baby boy. I handed out cigars to everyone I met. 

After we were settled in our new home and experiencing all the wonderful aspects of new parenthood like lack of sleep and poopy diapers we spent a lot of time talking about how we would raise our children. We knew we had been raised well by our own parents but they had done things we didn't want to include in our family. We promised each other we would use the good things our parents had taught us and toss out the bad things. Our list of bad things wasn't as long as we anticipated but we stressed over and over to each other to never make those same mistakes with our kids. Every afternoon when I got home from work I would hug and kiss Mammy, I know, yuck!, but then I would turn my attention to my little boy. I would get down on the floor and spend time with him alone. After dinner we would go for a walk, me walking, him riding in my arms. Sometimes we merely walked the fence line along our backyard. I would tell him about the trees and bushes I had planted and the time Mammy ran out during a storm in her pajamas to cover up her newly planted garden. Sometimes we would walk to the top of the hill and watch the sunset while we waited for the train in the distance that always came at the same time. Simple things but precious memories to me. I'm sure Jamie doesn't remember any of it. 

Carter, when your dad came along two years later pretty much all the same things happened the same as when Jamie had been born. The differences were, there was no mix up in the delivery schedule. Cody came along exactly when he was planned. He didn't make a fuss about trying the old fashioned method of birth. He calmly waited for the procedure. He was two whole pounds lighter than Jamie had been....oh yeah, his little head was perfectly symmetrical. He was a beautiful baby. My only regret about the morning Cody was born was....he was supposed to be a little girl. We had already named him Jennifer Lyn. When the nurse came out to get me to see my new baby boy a twinge of regret shot through my mind that we didn't have a little girl. I really wanted a little girl to spoil. As we walked up to the window to see him for the first time I remember saying to the nurse, "He's perfect! He's just what I wanted!" My next thought was, "I don't think Jennifer Lyn is going to work for us." When I was allowed in to see Mammy, I told her we had another little boy and I couldn't be happier. She was too groggy at the time but later on we agreed on a name we liked, Cody Lyn. I don't remember how we came up with the name but it has always set well with him I think. Unlike Jamie's birth, there was no crucial health issues during Cody's delivery and Mammy and Cody got to join our happy band just a couple of days after he was born.

Having a second child in the home changed the dynamics a bit. Jamie had been the recipient of all the doting up to this point and this little creature stealing some of his attention wasn't appreciated. Although he was always sweet and loving with his new brother, there was an edge of suppressed anger at this intrusion to his world. We had to keep pretty close tabs on Jamie when Cody was sleeping because he wanted to "love on him" a little too rough. He would hold Cody and "precious baby, sweet baby" all the while he was looking at him like "Why did you do this to me?" He would get down close like he was going to kiss him but then push his chin into Cody's forehead like he wanted to really hurt him. This only lasted for a few days and then Jamie realized this new creature wasn't going away so he may as well work with what he had. They became best buddies long before Cody ever knew Jamie existed.

One of our important traditions was the calm down before bed routine. All the chores were done, the bills paid (hopefully) and it was time to sit as a family and do what all excellent families did at night. We turned on the TV. I always had a recliner, even when I couldn't afford one. Each night Mammy would sit on the couch and I would stretch out on the recliner. M.A.S.H. was our favorite show followed closely by the Carol Burnett Variety Hour. When Jamie was a tiny little thing, I would hold him resting on my chest until he fell asleep. He didn't allow that for long though because he had too much last minute playing to do before bed. When Cody came along I did the same with him and he loved it. It became a nightly ritual but for some stupid reason we decided I was spoiling him so one night I didn't let him fall asleep that way. We put him to bed and listened to him cry. I felt so bad I went and got him out of his crib so he could lay on my chest. I told Mammy we would stop doing that when Cody was old enough to say, "Hey, let's cut this out". Eventually he outgrew the tradition and it faded into the past where it lingers in my golden memory file.

We would put the boys to bed at around eight each night. Our ritual included baths, stories, and much talking. We encouraged them to tell us everything they had on their minds. They quickly figured out this step in the process delayed the dreaded "go to sleep" order. Sometimes the things they had to report in on were simple. Other times they were outrageous and made up just to entertain. But we let them talk. AND, we listened until they knew they were the most important two boys living at the time. We would end out the nightly conversation with the same instructions: "You grow up and go to school. Then you get out of school and go to college. Then you meet the woman who will be your wife. You marry and then you have children of your own. It was a ritual. Finally we would say our prayers, the boys first and then us. Mammy and I would always include in prayer the little girls who were growing up somewhere in the world who would eventually be our sons' wives. All of that and we still didn't miss Carol Burnett!

I Thought I Was Done.....

 Yeah, I had about decided I had no more stories to tell. I set this old laptop aside and figured I had written all the words I had in my system.....and I was probably right because I still can't think of anything in my past that I haven't already told you. I enjoyed reliving my memories in print but after a while I knew I was going to have to start making things up. I tried that with Frank and Bert but my wife was kind enough to tell me no one is really interested in my imaginary characters. Bless her heart!

What caused me to dust off this old computer and replace the battery was a request I received from a grandson. Carter is only thirteen (fifteen now) but he strikes me as an intelligent and observant young man who listens more than he talks. That's a rare quality in a young teenager so when he approached me with his request I had to sit and talk to him about it first. Carter asked me to write a book just for him. He wasn't interested in funny stories or historical fact, real or imagined. He wanted to learn one thing from this book: How to raise his kids the way Debbie and I raised his dad, Cody. This request involved so much in the way of respect, love, and discipline. From a thirteen year old for crying out loud!! I kind of feel like I have to oblige and start work on this project before I'm too old to remember anything....so let's get started.

Carter, I'm honored you asked this of me. I've thought about it nearly constantly since we talked and you can't imagine how much it means to me and your Mammy for you to feel as you do. The compliment we receive from the way you think about your dad means more than a pickup truck loaded with gold. You explained to me that your dad is wonderful. Your quote, "Dad does everything right!" is true. He is a good man for sure.

____

Editor's note: This story began back in 2025 and was set aside by the world-renowned, wise, and much respected author.....who is still amazingly good looking despite 76 years on this earth. Life got hectic for the author and his attitude toward writing had gone with the wind. Now he is back in control of things (kind of) and decided this morning to write another story.....having completely forgotten about the above draft until opening up this old blog site. Oh sure, the gifted author knows blogs are so out of style that no one will ever read what's posted here but doggone it, this is where he chooses to write. It is just too much trouble to come up with a format more up-to-date!! Okay, back to the business at hand:

____

Carter, to be honest, so much of what you admire about your dad is his doing, not ours. He has always been driven to excel, succeed, and stay humble and kind in the process. I don't remember ever dwelling on those particular attributes while raising him and your uncle Jamie. We taught them to use good manners, be respectful of others, don't nose pick, and never start out on a long journey in dirty underwear. He developed into the man you love so much by his own feelings, thoughts, and prayers. We gave him the basics, as we did with Jamie, and lo and behold these two great men raised up to be the successes they are. We're proud beyond description but the majority of credit goes to them respectively.

I'll write about the days spent with these two boys as they grew into the men we all know and love but please, do like your dad and set your own firm goals and plans. Go after them like he did and never lose sight of your faith in the Lord. Pray to Him regularly for guidance and protection. Okay, here goes.

Mammy and I were way too young to be married, much less old enough to think about starting a family. I was a junior in college and she was a newly graduated high school girl. Over time, Mammy developed into a pretty doggone good homemaker and I struggled along trying to not crater my education while supporting a wife. She was successful. I failed. At the urging of the dean of the business school at UTA, I took some time off my "studies" to concentrate on whatever it was I was concentrating on instead of school. That was of course my new wife. I would come home from work to grab a quick bite of dinner before heading to Arlington for night classes. She was very supportive. She would ask why I was eating so fast and I would explain, "I need to get to class. I'm way behind." She would offer motivating words like, "Oh, do you really have to go to class again tonight? You went last night." Great homemaker, lousy motivational speaker, but I listened to her requests enough that the university suggested a "short" break.

Life slowed down for us after I took the break from school (a break that lasted way-y-y-y too long). We had leisurely nights at home listening to the Four Seasons and talking about the future. It didn't take too much time for Mammy to suggest maybe we should start a family. I was totally against the idea because I needed to eventually get that stupid education I had already invested so much time on. She was relentless, every night same topic. Finally, the idea became appealing to me too so.....we did! Totally too young and stupid, but there we went.

It took us no time at all to find out we were having a baby. Now, keep in mind this was a long, long time ago. There were no promises of "Hey, you're having a boy....or a girl!" All the doctor could confirm was we were most definitely having something. We wanted a boy, and a boy it was! Now, I'm sure you're old enough to understand that your dad was not this boy child. It was Jamie. While telling about starting life with a little boy named Jamie, keep in mind everything happened exactly the same about two years later when we came home with a little baby named Cody.

Carter, it's impossible to describe the emotions I felt when I was first handed my baby boy. My precious wife had gone through a difficult delivery and I was worried about her....but, I was handed a new soul, a new being I was totally responsible for. The feelings were total joy, pride, fear, and worry. Mammy was too weak to offer more than a smile as I beamed. We did however, talk seriously about this little package we had to protect and love forever. We realized it was on us...and no one else, to make sure this little fella grew up strong, healthy, safe, and well versed in all God expected of him. Just us....good grief, what had we done?!

It took a week for Mammy to regain enough strength to leave the hospital. For some reason, the powers  making decisions strongly believed our new baby would be much better off staying at the hospital with his new mother rather than be carted off with an ignorant and very nervous daddy. Wise people those decision makers!

We eventually got settled at home. Home was a new house we had been building during the pregnancy. Of course we weren't actually doing the building. We were paying professionals to do that for us. The house was completed and we were able to close on it one week after Jamie was born. Good timing but I will re-emphasize how young, inexperienced, and stupid we really were. We had no idea what we were doing but with the help of loving, caring grandparents, and a lot of grace from God, we successfully set up housekeeping in a new house, with a new baby, and a whole new set of worries. 

I'm going to give you a break from all these ramblings for a few days now. It seems like a good stopping point. The real "meat" of child rearing will start in the next chapter

On The Road Again...

 You will probably say, "Oh Mihills! You're entirely too old for that!" And you may be right but I did it anyway. I bought a new "Hog"! Well, okay, it isn't really a hog....it's more like a bicycle.....it's not really a bicycle....it's an "adult tricycle" okay?! It's all my wife and my doctor would allow me to have in order to restore my "Born to be wild" lifestyle. I've always enjoyed bike riding but this goofy brain condition I developed made it impossible for me to control anything on two wheels....even my walker has four wheels. I thought about it for months and finally pulled the trigger and ordered this elderly status symbol about two weeks ago. It arrived in less than a week from the distributor. It was one long box left on my porch and weighed too much for me to move it to my garage without my old dolly (which does have only two wheels and I didn't wreck it once thank you very much!)

I was worn out by the time I finally wrestled the box inside and had to take a nap before beginning the assembly. When I woke up I went out and opened the box to find, by my count, three thousand disconnected pieces. I went back inside and watched a movie with Debbie....ate some ice cream, and went to bed. 

The next day I was rested, alert, filled with a third cup of coffee and decided, "Hey, I can do this!" I went to the garage and began pulling tricycle parts out of the box. I am much wiser than I was when I was still in my early 70's. I laid all the parts out on my work bench and inventoried each part against the parts list. Everything was there...amazing but true! Then I took the instruction manual inside and read every page.....all eighty pages. Yes, this may have been a mistake. I opted to stop for lunch at this point. Eighty pages of dull reading and a big lunch always makes me sleepy so I went ahead and took a nap before going back out. When I woke up Debbie was just starting another movie so I stopped off and watched it with her. She appreciates it when I spend quality time with her.

I didn't make it back out to the garage until the next morning and then I arrived there determined to get the trike assembled...or die trying. I managed to get the rear assembly together which included the axle, two wheels, seven gears, derailleur, and back brake. I wish I had taken a picture because that was pretty doggone impressive if I say so myself. My next step was too assemble all the remaining parts to the trike frame. Easy peasy you say? Not so. Running the cables for the brakes and derailleur took the rest of the afternoon. If I hadn't followed the instructions step by step I'm sure I would have ruined something but following those steps was hard, i.e. "take the longer cable and thread through from the shifter to the derailleur by passing it through the diddlywop and into the whoop-tee-do housing insuring a snug fit. Pull tight and tighten down using the whirlee thing adjuster (see notes on page 33 and 72). Turn by hand to tighten, then back the turn off by 25%." The cable was too short. Referring back to the manual I found this: "If cable is too short you used the wrong cable you moron! I SAID use the LONGER cable. Take it all out and start over....and pay attention!" I was beat after running all four cables. I can't remember why there were four cables. One for the shifter, one for the back brake assembly, and one for the front brakes. If I wasn't so tired I would go out there and try to figure out where that fourth cable went.....just don't care right now.

The final day I had allowed for assembly came with cold wind and rain. A good day for working in the garage and I bull-dozed through the remaining parts. Before long I had myself one nifty looking seven speed tricycle. I couldn't wait to try it out but I didn't want to get it wet so I held off til later in the day when the clouds moved out. Then I pushed the trike out to my driveway, climbed on and took off. I rode probably, oh, I don't know, maybe three feet before the chain came off. I pushed the trike back in the garage, read through that section of the manual again and realized my problem. I had assumed I installed all the cables and derailleur properly. Silly boy. I spent another two hours redoing it all and then dejectedly came inside. 

Next day! I got up early and went out to my new ride. I hopped on and headed down the driveway. I turned right and rode up the slight incline to the end of the street, turned around and headed back down the street. The slope was just enough to really get going good and I was through three gears and moving right along when I decided to turn right onto Charley's street. I was moving at a pretty good clip when I went into the turn. Did you know three wheel vehicles do not take turns like a two wheel vehicle? Neither did I. Committed to the turn I quickly realized I was about to tip the trike over. Gently screaming, "SWEET MOTHER OF SCHWINN, WE'RE GONNA CRASH!" I managed to avoid the oncoming curb by less than an inch and regained control. I decided I didn't need to show the trike to Charley. I slowly worked my way home. I'm going to have to learn how to ride this thing before I can justify wearing the new vest Debbie made for me emblazoned with "Born To Be Mild". But, I will get there. Oh yes, I will get there.

The Wrap up....

 Dear Irma,

Thank you for letting me know how Frank has been reacting to my letters. I didn't know his dementia had progressed so rapidly. I sure didn't intend to make him upset receiving letters from "some guy he didn't know". My heart is breaking right now. If he has lucid moments will you please pass on this message to him from me: "Hello Frank....I miss you buddy! I want you to know and try to remember, I consider you my best friend. Thank you for all the good times we shared in the old neighborhood and thank you for teaching me how to slow down and breathe! I'm enjoying my time in Fort Davis and savoring this slower life. Take care my friend. I love you."

Irma, if there is anything at all I can do to help you with Frank please, please let me know. I don't have anything going on here that I can't walk away from at the drop of a hat! I guess I'll give you an update on all that's been going on out here and then I won't send any more letters. First of all, I hired that kid I told you about who called me looking for work and a place to stay. I was hesitant because he didn't have any construction experience but he seemed honest, intelligent, and honestly, I just felt sorry for him. He moved into one of my spare rooms and immediately got started on the garage project I had planned. He worked like a mad man getting the project up and going and then on days when there was nothing going on here, he hired out to a local rancher, running fence and doing other odd jobs. (I paid him hourly on days he was working on my garage but nothing if he wasn't working on it.) There was one stretch of three weeks we were waiting for trusses to be built and delivered and he got nervous not making any money. I reminded him part of his pay was free room and board but he still didn't like not having something specific to do each day. I'm sure glad he came along. I haven't mentioned it to him yet but I plan to offer the overhead apartment to him to rent when the garage is finished. If he doesn't want to rent it that's fine but I'll sure miss having him around. 

Secondly, Jo has fallen in love with Lou and wants to adopt him. Silly woman! She found out he had experience selling cars and she's been trying to get him to go to work for her at the dealership. I reckon he'll have a job waiting when he finishes this garage. By the way, Lou has started dating a young widow he met at our church. He seems quite smitten, to say the least. She has a young son and has been struggling as a single mom after her husband was killed in a car accident a year ago. I think she is enjoying Lou's attention but I hope it's for the right reason. Convenience isn't a real good motivation for a relationship.

Jo and I have continued as "good old pals". She's a hoot to be around and I'm still surprised at that after my initial opinion of her that one day in the store parking lot. We go out dancing every Thursday night. I'm glad I learned that two step. Now I'm learning Texas Swing if you can believe that! We hit the early bird specials at the local restaurants at least once a week and spend most Sunday afternoons wandering around the countryside. It's beautiful out here!!

I did start a part time job finally. I never could get that job at the hardware store like I wanted but I spend 20 hours a week, mornings and Saturdays, sacking groceries and helping out at the Stone Village Market. It's been fun and absolutely no pressure....I should have moved out here years ago!!!

I guess that's all the news I have. I've enjoyed keeping my story going for Frank and you. Again, I'm so sorry the letters started upsetting him. I think of the two of you as family so stay in touch. I won't write again unless I hear from you.

I truly love you and Frank!

Bert

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.