The Immediate Family and other trivia

This is a snapshot of my family when I was like 6 years old. I had two parents. One male. One female. One sibling. Female. Four grandparents. Two female. Two male. Two uncles, one living. One great grandmother. Very old. Numerous great aunts and uncles and all the associated cousins of various degrees. The extended family is extensive and varied and the family tree sometimes wraps back around itself in some questionable ways. LOL. You all do know that I married my cousin, right? Yes, I will explain. No, it's not what you are thinking. We don't have kids that look like Sloth from the Goonies movie. Look it up.

I will start with my parents and grandparents. And I will tell you now that not all stories are funny.

My dad was an alcoholic. A professional beer drinker complete with the giant belly. Almost every activity included beer in some way. At least that’s how I remember it. He was an army veteran although he has never once in my memory mentioned anything about it. He seemed very much a victim of the societal norms of the time that were placed upon him as a father. I can’t remember hugs and kisses and I love yous. I don’t think it was tough love either. I don’t know if the lack of affection was what was expected or if the beer took it away or if it was just his normal manner. I don’t know. That is the theme for much of what I will be writing about my family. I don’t know. He was self employed and owned and operated a backhoe tractor for various contractors. He made a good honest living. My dad taught me how to fish and hunt, that honesty was a good quality, that hard work was ok. But he wasn’t the dad a kid really needs. I blame the drinking. My choice. It’s better than the alternative answer. He drank all the time. All of his friends drank all the time. He spent afternoons in bars and weekends in coolers of coors. I got very little guidance from him. No information. No boundaries. No real feeling of safety. He didn’t beat me or hit me. He never even yelled at me. He just wasn’t there. As an adult I understand the disease of alcoholism but as a kid all you know is that you have a need and the person to fill that need isn’t available for you. Period. As a kid I was filled with confusion and embarrassment and bewilderment at our relationship but I didn’t understand that the booze was the real problem. As a teen I just pretended it didn’t exist. But all my friends knew. They laughed at him and by proxy, at me. I spent a lot of adult years working thru my own issues caused by my dad. I still do. I have emotions that run the gamut. I’ll discuss those another day.

My mom...is a free spirit. Too free. So free that motherhood didn’t suit her well at all. I dont really know all that much about my mom. I dont understand her really. Never did. Still dont. We arent from the same planet. She has a lot of emotional brokeness i can only suspect came from her parents and from her inability to fit into her generation. She seemingly was just born like 40 years too early. She didn’t drink but she couldn’t stay in one place very well. She is a collector of wayward souls. She is supremely artistic and talented and has used almost none of the talent for anything worthwhile except for occasional bursts of brilliance. I have wondered if she is really a genius that had been caged for too long. Dunno. Of course with dad being an alcoholic i don’t even begin to understand her dynamic. I only know what she was to me and how she made me feel. Like with my dad, I don’t remember that closeness that mothers have for their kids. I know she loved and cared for me but there always seemed to be something missing. I could have blocked it from memory but i dont remember many hugs or luv yous. Now, she seems kinda like a pretend mom back then. She always seemed to have her own agenda, her eyes on some other distant prize. She was supportive of me and even in her times of aloofness she always accepted me into her home wherever she happened to be. Just like my dad there was a serious lack of boundaries and instruction and well, mothering. We did have some talks but it felt like she was going to be there to help me pick up the pieces but never really gave me any instructions on how to deal with the pieces in real time. Maybe it’s because she couldn’t do that herself. I dunno. I'm glad to be here because of her but i think we all understand that in hindsight she should never have had kids. In her generation it was what you did and she walked the line like every other girl fresh out of high school. I do harbor some resentment with my mom too but it is different from how I feel with my dad. She was more honest with her abilities and desire to be a mom even tho it wasn’t ever really said or spoken. It was just somehow understood. We don’t have many things in common. I think she tried to be something more significant to me when I was in my teens but it just didn’t work out right, like she was just trying to be my friend and not my mom. I had real difficulty connecting with her on a level playing field when I was in my teens. It just never felt natural. Like there had to be a script for me to feel comfortable talking with her. She has left me with some legacies but the difference between her an my dad is that she has at least tried to say she was sorry in her way. It doesn’t make us friends or buddies but i seem to handle it a little better. She left me with a lifetime of lung troubles from her chain smoking my entire childhood. Every time i clear my throat of crap it reminds me of her and it makes me angry. It's not her fault. It's just a fact I live with daily. We are friendly now and I can see in her that she wishes the hole between us had never happened but that we have really gone too far to change it. So we gingerly walk around it and do our best. We have found a pretty good middle ground now where we can enjoy an hour or two together. It’s ok now that Im 45 years old. It wasn’t when I was 14.

There you go. Two parents. The very very short version. There will be much more to come in stories and memories but you needed to know some basics to understand me better.

Yes, i do have a sister. 8 years older than me. So much older that we have never had a relationship of any kind. Our life paths went in entirely separate ways. Not better or worse, but certainly different. Just like mom, we don’t have much in common. No reason to talk. No reason to hang out. When I was in my teens there was some time when our paths crossed more often but by then our lifestyles were very different and it wasn't comfortable for me. I showed her around vegas once. It was fun. I see her every couple of years for a few hours. Both she and my mom fall into the same category in that we can hang out as long as there is an event surrounding us. A casino. A pool hall. A holiday. She will come thru in stories. I don’t know a whole lot about her. I have a lot of extrapolated ideas and circumstantial evidence but basically i dont have much real evidence to use to establish a relationsip. I have some stories but the facts may be all wrong. I've made judgements about her that may be way off base.

I will end this post with one fact that echoes in my soul every single day of my life, molds the raw emotions that erupt from within me and fuels my scorching insecurities.

My parents screamed at each other. Often. Always at night.

SCREAMMMMMEEEEDDDD

There was hitting. And threats. And crying. And thrown objects and breaking noises. And nights my mom would run away to somewhere and someone else. And my dad would go to bed like nothing ever happened.

And I was there. I heard every word. I felt every slap. Every door slam a lightning bolt to my heart. With my head under my Hair Bear Bunch pillow and hiding under my Scooby Doo sleeping bag. With giant tears in my eyes and my fingers shoved two knuckles deep into my ear. Begging them to stop. Praying for them to stop.

Trying to figure out...WHAT I HAD DONE...to make them hate each other so much.

Sigh.

The Basics

I was born in Claremore Oklahoma. I attended all my schooling in Catoosa which was the next town over. Maybe the next next town over if you wanna be really correct. Watch the play/movie/musical Oklahoma and you will know exactly where I am talking about. Pay attention to the details. To be more exact I grew up it a tee intersection of Hiway 20 between Claremore and Owasso known only as Keetonville. I don’t think I ever met any Keetons there. The whole enchilada is in NE Oklahoma and not too distant from the thriving metropolis of Tulsa.

My birthplace and rearing center is the land of Will Rogers and Rogers n Hamerstein and JM Davis and rolling green pastures and wooded forests and rocky hills and red clay dirt. Land of manmade lakes and natural farm ponds and mudfilled streams and clear water rivers. Land of cows and horses and giant owls and buzzards and whipperwhils and toads and fish and tarantulas. Land of thunderstorms and ice and infinite humidity and of school closed due to mud. Land of native Americans and Indian reservations and separated black towns and white towns and cross burnings and racial hatred. Land of snow forts and treehouses and rope swings and porches. Land of garbage dumped along the highway and strip pit coal mining and bobbing oil wells and refinery rotten egg smells. Land of god and believers and preachers who prey on the weak and pulpits built of gold born on the backs of simple folks wanting to hear about a better life waiting beyond. Land of pickup trucks and boondocking and highschool drag races and cruising in your dads stationwagon up and down main street and around and around the local Sonic with a hundred other cars. Land of deer season and bass fishing and duck blinds and fried rabbit for dinner. Land of two lane highways and and one lane dirt roads and roadside burgers and rootbeer floats and tiny motels with kitchenettes and four way flashing red lights and roadsigns with bullet holes. Land of giant family farms and one room houses and lonely old people and middleschool dropouts and gatherings on the porch and teens watching the traffic go by on the highway while drinking beer and having sex in the back of your buddy’s El Camino. Land of Get n Go and Otasco and Humpty Dumpty and Taco Bueno and Ken’s Pizza and Casa Bonita and Daylite Donuts and Quiktrip and The Dairyette and Sonic and Coney Islander and the doctor office above the hardware store. Land of Johnson grass and chiggers on your ass and ticks on your balls and mosquitos on your neck and gnats in your eyes. Land of poverty and low IQ and common sense and toughness and getting by with what you got and chain smoking and alcoholics and family feuds and instant judgement and infinite love. Land of nighttime crickets and hooty hoot owls and chirpy frogs and cicadas when they decide to join the party. Land of giant red earthworms and night crawlers and grasshoppers and catalpa worms and giant swarms of moths around every light in the summer. Land of tomatoes and cucumbers and squash and wild onions and poke salad and wilted lettuce and fried everything. Land of weekend camping and bottle rockets and waterskiing and canoe trips on the Illinois river and diving from railroad bridges and making out with your girlfriend in the woods. Land of enormous state fairs and corn on the cob and dirt track racing and heffers raised by kids that win blue ribbons and Zingo and the Phantasmagoria and one big ass slide and the ice capades. I could go on and on.

I dont remember the actual birth event. But im sure it couldn’t have been too comfortable in 1965 which seems relatively midevil in 2010. I like to think it was warm and quiet and pleasant but the reality is that it was most likely cold and sterile and hella bright and loud and everyone was smoking Marlboros and drinking Coors. Great. I’m sure I went home propped up on the dash of the family car like a freshly gutted deer on the hood of a pickup. I’m sure there were lots of grandmas and grandpas

I had the same doctor forever when i was a kid. Doctor uhhhhhhhh. Dammit. Doctor Jennings. He had a funny first name i cant remember i just remember it was funny. At least it was funny when i was like 8 years old. Maybe it was initials. If i had to take a test i would say his name was M.R. Jennings. Cmon, M.R. is funny at that age. I think i confused him with dr uhhhh. Crap. Had the nurse Consuelo or Conswelo. Dammit. Tv show. Not Bombay. Not Shivago. No Doolittle or Love. Crap. It will come to me later. When i cant think of a name or something i go thru the alphabet till it comes to me. A. b. c. d. .....nope didnt work.

Ah, Welby

Doctor jennings seen me thru many accidents and illnesses till i was probably in my teens. I dont remember him much at all after about 12 or so. Maybe he died or retired. I dunno.

I remember back to about three yrs old, maybe late twos. Hard to say. I was young. I know i lived in a trailer between the local high school and a country club golf course and my moms parents lived next door in an actual house. My moms parents always lived next door. We had to move because the government built a road right thru our house. Yep, right thru the middle of it. There is an inland port nearby where grain, etc. is loaded on barges and hauled miles and miles away to market. It was built in the early 70’s and president Nixon come and spoke at the grand opening. Tulsa Port of Catoosa. Look it up. They had to build a hefty concrete highway to the port from the nearest interstate freeway and the most direct route put it right thru the living room. Nice. Ha. My dog is sleeping and running on the wood floor. Clik. Clik. Scrape. Clik. Anyway. I remember a few things. Oh. I remember having a model train. The kind in a circle but my parents always denied that. So i probably seen it on a commercial or something. But ask me and i am sure i had one. I remember my grandmother painting furniture green in the summertime. I remember the neighbors on either side. One had apples and a barn. The other played canasta with my sister. I still dont know wtf canasta is.

I remember hunting for lost golf balls with my granddad just outside the fences of the golf course that was across the street. We found a buttload of golfballs and I remember that my granddad kept every single one in a big old wooden chest that probably held architectural drawings and plans. Thats about all i can muster from that age for now. Pretty lean.

The house I grew up in was small and had 7’ ceilings and is maybe 1000 sqft. It still exists. Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood-Brooks live next door now. I’m sure their ceiling are more than 7’ high. My dad still lives there. It was built on the side of a river valley on the slope. So it was built on a hill but it wasn’t actually a hill because it was one sided. But it certainly was tilted significantly and i had to chase my share of wayward basketballs down the gravel driveway. Three bedrooms. One full shared bath and a small toilet/sink room on parents bedroom. Kitchen/dining room and living room. The kitchen and living room were separated by a single wall with walkthru openings at each end. One end was eventually walled up as i turned that little running track into my personal olympic training center and professional racing arena. Around and around and around. And around and around. Lol. Kids then had energy. I had energy. No ADD or ADHD. No drugs needed. Oxygen and food. Just needed room to run. I had my own room as did my sister. Hers was on the end of the house and mine was more central. We had one air conditioner in the living room and an attic fan/whole house fan and a heater (furnace) that had floor vents that went to each room in the house.

Our home was built on several acres of land and all on the side of a hill. The land around our house was populated with houses every half a mile or so but mostly it was forest forest forest. I spent so many of my early years in the woods alone with my tree friends and my rock buddies and the birds and the squirrels and deer and ticks and chiggers and poison ivy. I would roam the land freely without care for fences or boundaries. Its the way it was then, good or bad. There was a significant river about a mile from the house. I generally stayed away as water was always a weird for me but I did manage to log a few hours on the muddy banks. Never liked water much. Still dont. I climbed the tallest trees and swung on vines like tarzan. Hours and hours and hours and hours alone in the woods. I did have one friend that lived within a mile or two and we had our fun but my best times were always alone. No chaos. No sharing. The rules were clear. Everything in the forest forgave my faults and transgressions and wierdness and everything in the forest healed itself or renewed itself when I broke it. It wasn’t reliant on anyone or anything. And it was at peace with the world around it. And it allowed me to be part as an equal. To become a tree or a rock or a pile of crunch fall leaves. The forest needed me and i needed it. I still need it except my forest takes many new forms now...roaming crowded casinos where nobody knows who i am, sitting in my boat all day at a favorite fishing hole never seeing another human for 12 hours, driving cross country or around the block just, etc. I havent had a chance to ask if it still needs me for many many years. There was a creek that ran from a natural spring where the water table emerged from a fracture in the bedrock near the top of our hill. Of course when I was a kid it was just a place where water came out. Poof theres a creek. Now I know all the fancy schmancy terms and about the geology that created it and so on. It ran all the way past our house for many years but the spring gradually changed to where it no longer flowed year round. Eventually it vanished completely. Only rain filled the empty gullies and washes and holes and ledges. Rain. Just a passerby. A lonely traveler that stops off one afternoon and tells you an interesting story and then moves on. Nothing you can rely on to be there for you when you need it. Not like a tree or a rock. I didnt know why the water went away then. All i knew is that water still came out of the rocks at the top of the hill but it only went about 50 feet and then it vanished back underground again. It was like it was afraid to come all the way to my house any more. There was a lot of chaos there when I was young. I didn’t blame it for hiding.

Establishing the Rules

I started this blog not long ago. My goal is to chronicle as many memories of my life as I can remember before I get too old and I forget them all. Along the journey I will elaborate on many of the events in my life as I remember them and discuss how they made me who I am today…and who I have been during my life. I am sure some of the events will be hilarious to onlookers and some will just be sad. Understand that these are my perceptions of events that I believe happened to me. It doesn’t mean they are true, real or that they ever even happened. I am 45 years old as of this writing. Things that happened when I was three are pretty blurry. Things that happened yesterday are pretty blurry too. Ah, the aging process in action. Many of our memories are combinations of reality, dreams, embellishments and external information given by others. I may tell a story about someone and that person may have an entire different memory even though we shared the same earthly reality. But the true reality is our own perception of the world around us. It doesn’t have to be based on truth. I just have to believe that it happened as I replay it in my head.

I don’t have much of a filter. I don’t want one. I will say offensive things. I will tell stories that may be hurtful. I will speak directly to you like you are right in front of me. There will be naughty words tho profanity isn’t really part of what makes me tick. There will be anger and resentment. There will be hilarity. But all of it will be me. As I am now. As I type the words. I surely will repeat myself many times. I may drum up a memory that corrects or erases something that happened in another story. It happens. To all of us.

I won’t bother with complete punctuation. Or being politically correct. Or really correct in any way. Whatever the computer corrects is what you get. Yes I am well educated and can write very well. However it doesn’t sound like me if it is all edited. I may use some texting abbreviations. BFD. If you read this and are offended or put off by something I have to say then quit reading or just keep it to yourself. And no whiners. I’m the only whiner allowed here. Go whine in your own blog. LOL. Feel free to comment unless you are just picking a fight. I don’t want to argue some point that may not even be real. If you have a memory of me you want to share then feel free to jump on in. I may take it and run with my own version. I don’t bite. Wait. I don’t leave marks. Wait…well, just be careful.

There will be a lot of people included in these writings. I will keep to first names if I can remember them or I will use a descriptive if I cant remember a name. If the material is potentially damaging I will use a fake name. If you lived the event then you will know it was you. I don’t have this blog as an excuse to yell at people or to hurt anyone. It’s just an outlet for my biological hard drive and a window into my own little universe.

So….here we go down the rabbit hole. Good luck to you. Remember that I am not responsible for your nightmares. Only mine.

The best intentions...

There are a few things that happen when a kid is just leaving the toddler age. I don't know who thought them up or who would ever think they were a good idea but my brain apparently didn't process things the same as other kids. I didn't understand life any more than the average kid but I asked a lot of questions. And I was always trying to do things myself. Fix things. Break things. Throw things. Just to see what would happen. Naturally overtly curious and I tried to make sense of everything in my world. But sometimes adults throw you a curve ball.

My sister, who is 8 years older than myself, and I would often spend time at my grandparents house. They lived next door so it wasn't a huge ordeal. You just open one door, walk a little ways, and go into another door. Pretty simple. We would sleep over from time to time. I dont know why. Not sure if it was because our grandparents wanted to have us so much or because our parents wanted to go out and party and would come home boozed up. We stayed over on easter once. It was my first memory of the easter bunny. I think I was about 4 yrs old.

As it was told to me, the easter bunny is a human sized rabbit that walks on two legs and comes to your house (just like Santa) and leaves all sorts of sugary candy treats and hides colorful hardboiled eggs for you to find like playing hide and seek. It is a pleasant enough story and is supposed to bring joy and excitement to a youngster. You get a good night's sleep and be a good boy and there is a biiiiiig payoff on the backend. But not for this youngster. I had trouble working out the whole scenario in my head. It just didn't make sense no matter how much I noodled it through.

Easter night we went to bed or were put to bed or whatever they did with us, just like any other night. Only this time my head was armed with this new data about a purported nocturnal bipedal rodent. A rabbit that was given freedom to roam anywhere and everywhere it pleased in pursuit of children's dreams.

That night I am sure I fell fast asleep. I'm sure my RAM and hard drive were working feverishly in the background of my brain trying to put all the pieces of this rabbit puzzle together. I had a dream. A dream as vivid to me now as it seems to have been then. In my dream I was in my bed in my NASA rockets jammies lying as still as possible. I was listening for the faintest noise that could be a sign of the bunny intruder. I wanted to catch this predator red handed. I needed hard evidence, proof positive of this nocturnal being before I could make it right in my mind. I lay there for a long time before I finally heard the first perceptible footfalls. I pulled the covers up over my head slowly and positioned myself for a prime view of the door of the bedroom. I was a ninja. I was stealth. I would not be perceived as anything other than a random rock laying on the bed. Perfectly natural. Perfectly normal. Undetected.

The door to the room slowly swung open revealing a tall white rabbit. All white from head to toe. He had not clothing except for a dark colored patterned suit vest with a gold pocket watch chain hanging from the vest pocket. No hat. No shoes. I just remember the vest and that the rabbit had a giant freaking head. The rabbit cradled a woven basket made of a natural woody material. The rabbit had big dark eyes devoid of human qualities. The pink nose would occasionally move revealing thin whiskers barely perceptible in the substantial moonlight flowing through the windows. My sister was obviously fast asleep and was not moved at all by the sight before me. The easter bunny walked around the room placing items from the basket at various locations. I didn't breathe. I didn't move a muscle. I was transfixed on this specter invading my space.

I was terrified! Mortified! Petrified! I hated everything about this bunny and his cavalier attitude towards one's personal space. My mind raced. The bunny finished his work and left the room just as he had arrived. My brain spun and spun. How could this happen? What kind of grandparents would allow a giant headed vest wearing basket wielding pervert bunny into their house unescorted? How is this allowed to happen in homes all over the world? What happened to the keepers of the young? Where were my protectors? OMFG!!! I spun Dorothy-like back into an uncomfortable slumber and awoke the next day alive, rich in easter treats, and haunted by the real event that I had witnessed the night before.

Even at that age I was fully aware that this bunny episode was a complete loss of trust and safety for me. What the hell are people thinking when they tell kids about the tooth fairy and the easter bunny and santa claus. Lalalalalala. Come on in. Door's always open here. Yep you can kill em and eat em for all we care. Our trusted protectors are actually partners in this crime by allowing it to happen. In one sentence they tell you they will fight to the death to protect you while at the same time they give the keys to your room to any old stranger bearing gifts. Just. Wow.

I never spoke of my encounter on the bus. I never admitted it to any of us. No I did not manage my adult induced paranoia well, Sam I am. I did not swallow this dreadful farce with my green eggs and ham.

Chances are....

I grew up in rural Oklahoma. Small town life. Small town values. Small town way of seeing things. My life barely stretched beyond arms length and what I knew of the world I got from tv, school, newspapers, etc. Weirdly though I really never believed the things I would see outside my little world. I kind of treated everything like it was a sit-com. So I grew to have a very narrow view of the world. Looking back, this made me exceedingly naive and near-sighted. Just call me a simple country boy, minus the hat and boots and horses and cows.

So, here's another story. There may be some significant details missing or incorrect but the event is real and I will do my best to tell it.

1989

My great-aunt L has been in the entertainment industry for years. She worked at famous theaters and shows as a seamstress and a manager and a person who made things happen for the famous performers in the shows. She got to be part of the show biz family and knew many interesting people. She used to go with other women in my family to Las Vegas once a year and she would figure out who was going to be performing and would contact managers to get free tickets and great seats to shows. The shows would usually end up with a meet and greet session backstage and was always good fun. When I lived in San Diego I was able to meet her when she went on her LV trips. She set me and family and friends up with excellent opportunities to mingle with celebrities. One such celebrity was Johnny Mathis, crooner extraordinaire.

Really, the only thing I knew about JM was that he was a singer and that he sang the theme song for the Family Ties tv show. But I would never turn down a show from L. My mother and grandmother were also in attendance. There may have been others but I don't remember. JM was playing in the main theater at Caesar's Palace which is always a treat. We got fantastic front and center seats and the show was very enjoyable.

I think I was 22 at the time, maybe 23. I hadn't expanded my world much since graduating college so I was still that same simple country boy inside. I was doing a lot of sports so I was built pretty well and I had begun growing my hair longer in a classic surfer dude style. My wife says that I was "very pretty" back then. She still says that now but I know she lies. LOL

After the show we were ushered backstage to meet JM. I remember we waited for a while as he managed other business. Eventually we met him in a backstage area. My great-aunt L did introductions with JM and his manager. She started with the ladies first and eventually my greeting was the final in line. I spoke politely and said hello and offered my hand which JM took with ease. I had discovered from previous experiences that performers tend to be very hands-on and huggy and touchy and that was just fine by me. JM was certainly no danger or threat and I had no reason not to trust the instincts of L for taking us to meet celebs. So I accepted my role and JM's normal mannerisms and let the moment flow like it was all normal.

Johnny took my hand with a pleasant grip. Not firm like a business handshake and I knew not to be strong and forward with such things. I returned his dainty hold and he looked straight into my eyes and said all the normal things...how wonderful it is to meet you, you look very handsome, I'm lucky to have met you...just normal celeb stuff. We maintained hand contact during the entire conversation eventually with his free hand gripping my hand allready being held. When the greeting was over I moved beside JM and stood facing the women.

JM still had a hold of my hand in a fully engulfed, fingers around my fingers grip. I thought nothing of it as celebs are often touchy, feely so I gladly stood holding his hand. Small talk ensued with my family and others and I stood mostly listening and trying not to be in the way since we were invading someone else's space. JM moved slightly and stood shoulder to shoulder with me. Well, not exactly since I am several inches taller than him but that is the general picture. After a few minutes JM let my hand go and put his arm around my waist. Again, I don't think anything of this maneuver as it is often the beginning of the "push" that sends you away back to your non-celebrity life. Except there was still significant small talk happening that eventually hit upon a topic of my interest.

JM had mentioned that he was invited and scheduled to play golf at a celebrity charity event the next afternoon at a famous local landmark golf course on the LV strip. I immediately chimed in that I was also an avid golfer and that playing in a celebrity charity tournament must be great fun. He removed his arm from around my waist and held my hand once again. I remember catching a glimpse of my family and they were listening happily and seemed very much in tune with the conversation and were smiling. It seemed normal considering the situation. JM then said that his partner was supposed to be here with him and was to be his partner at the golf outing the next day. However his partner had been delayed in LA and had not been able to make the trip and was unsure if he could catch a flight the next day. My eyes lit up as I seen the opportunity and I pounced. I brought my clubs with me, I lied, and would be more than happy to fill in for your partner if you wanted me. I figured if he said yes that I would just go buy a new set of clubs for the event the next morning. It would be worth it. JM said that it would be lovely to spend the day with me and we exchanged information with him and his handlers. I was beaming and pouring on the charm as best I could. I took both his hands in mine and thanked him sincerely for allowing us to meet and for the possible opportunity to be his partner. He pulled me close and thanked me and we parted and our group started on our way out of the theater.

We got out of the backstage area and worked our way to the exit when I noticed my mom et al were snickering at me. I asked why they were laughing at me but I was sure it was because I had lied about having my golf clubs with me. My mom looked at me and said, you do know that JM is gay don't you. Really. REALLY. My naive bumpkin brain didn't see that at all and apparently I had done a pretty good job at making myself just as gay as him. It never ever crossed my mind that his partner wasn't his GOLF partner, but his cuddle naked in the spoon position watching chick flicks partner. Oh no! Being a small town boy I wasn't afraid of gay folks but I certainly didn't have much knowledge about it. Now the celebrity closeness took on a whole new definition. And I had just batted my eyes and committed to being his partner for the day while his other partner was unavailable. Crap. Crap. crap.

I really really really wanted to play golf in the celebrity tournament. My family continued to laugh at me, not with me. Then I made the decision. If JM needs a partner of some kind, and if being that partner will get me in the golf tournament, then I was willing to do whatever was asked of me. OMG! I was totally gay whoring myself out to a short, middle aged, well tanned singing icon. wow. We really learn about ourselves in such times.

Sadly the story doesn't continue any further. JM called the next day and left a message at my hotel that his partner had been able to get a flight and that his day was back to normal. He thanked me for the offer and that was it. Now, not 12 hours earlier I was feeling bold and empowered...then embarassed and compromised...then uplifted and determined...and now I sort of felt like a prom date that got stood up on prom night when we were supposed to dance the night away and have fun with our friends and then go in my date's family station wagon and lose my virginity like every prom date dreams. Only one glass slipper for me. Dang.

An interesting side note. I learned that JM made like $100,000 for each show he performed. He was a very wealthy man. Later in the evening after seeing the show at Caesar's Palace I seen JM playing a nickel single line slot machine. Playing a nickel at a time. And just giggling to himself and having a jolly gay time. Indeed.

Kill or be killed

1988

After I graduated from college (University of Oklahoma) in 1988 I got the opportunity to move to San Diego for a job (I am a Professional Registered Civil Engineer). Being from Oklahoma my entire life who wouldn't jump at the chance to live in a city you only see in movies. One of the first things I did was try to surf. Surfing is really difficult and I'm not a strong or happy swimmer so I was pretty poor at it. I did, however, get to be part of the surfing scene.

I lived in an apartment only two blocks from the beach and many of my neighbors were true surfers living the surf life. Out at daybreak catching waves then flipping burgers or waiting tables till the evening surf session. Just making enough money to get their board wax, weed and sunblock. Things like utility bills and rent were always second consideration. I got to live the lifestyle as a tourist...meaning I wasn't into drugs, I didn't live and die for surfing and I was a professional with an important job that made me enough money to afford much more than my surfing compadres. But the local dudes took me in an made me one of their own mostly because I reminded them of the main character from a famous surf movie. Everybody had cool names like Blaze or ChiChi or Bongo or Rudder or Freckles. I was labeled Busey. The surfer dudes thought I reminded them of the great surf movie Big Wednesday and a main character was played by Gary Busey. I was honored that the surf dudes thought enough of me to give me a name and Busey was pretty dang cool. It also fit that I was pretty much a foot taller than most of the surfers. They tended to be pretty small and quick. Busey is a big man and my Cherokee blood gives me a thick stature. It didn't take long for my hair to bleach almost white and I had it cut in a typical surfer fashion. I had a wetsuit, a couple of different surfboards in my quiver (lol) and my apartment was full of sand and coconut scented surf board wax.

I had numerous surfer neighbors but one was a red-headed freckle-faced ginger boy (as my lovely red-headed daughter would have called him). He took me surfing for the first time and we were pretty fair friends. His nickname was Freckle and I will refer to him as F from now on. We spent enough time together to have our fair share of $1 drinks at the local art-deco bar (which I took my wife to many years later), surf trips in his rusty old VW van (oh so cliche) and even a few trips south of the border where the laws and rules for drinking and age of consent were much more lenient than in the US. At that time 16 in Mexico was the same as 21 in the US. Sooooo, there were lots of drunk teen girls available and willing to have a date for one night.

At the time I was also interested in sailing and I was going to go to the downtown library in SD and get some books on the subject. F was taking some classes at a local college and needed to do some research and so he came along for the trip. It was winter time and it was dark by 6pm and it was dark when we left. Our route would take us past the navy base and the airport and around the bay and into downtown. As we were driving past the airport on a 2-lane one way city street a car whizzed past us on the left really fast. The roads were a little wet and the car swerved in front of me just narrowly missing my truck and causing me to take some pretty serious evasive maneuvers to avoid light poles and parking meters and other cars before I came to a stop in the right hand lane of the street. The fast car, a mercedes roadster of some type, has spun around backward and was facing my truck probably 40 yards away. I had come to a stop and there were a few cars behind me that were regaining their composure and moving away. The passenger door of the roadster opened up and a woman wearing a stunning short dress and 5" heels got out. Then she faced me and I got out of my truck. She started running toward me as fast as the wet pavement and her heels would allow. It didn't make any sense. I just stood there and watched. She made it about half way to me and the driver door opened up and a gentleman wearing a suit jumped out and spun around and stared momentarily at the woman and then at me. Then the man in the suit started running full speed toward the woman....

This is where I will take a short departure from the story. There are generally two kinds of people in the world when faced with danger. Those that run away and those that fight. Neither is better than the other. They both take care of immediate business. You don't know which you are till an event causes your brain to shut down and your basic instincts to take over. My entire life I have always been a fighter. I don't start fights like a bully or walk around beating my chest. But when faced with danger my instincts put me into immediate action. Your legs move and your adrenaline pumps and you aren't really in charge of what's going on. I've had enough trials where this instinct has taken over to understand my natural tendency and I've come to grips with the notion that it may get me killed some day. There are times when running away is a better plan but you don't really get to make that decision when the chips are down. Now back to the story....

I seen the man running at me and it was very apparent that he was a threat to the woman, or to me, or to both of us. My adrenaline spiked, my legs moved, my arms pumped and I found myself moving full speed toward the man. I played a lot of football in my day and it was just like he was a tailback trying to score from 40 yards out and I was a linebacker making sure he found the ground before the endzone. My head was down and I was a moving freight train. The man's eyes widened when he seen me coming and he immediately put on the brakes and I chased him back to his car where he got in and drove away before I could get there. I stood there all panting with the adrenaline coursing thru my veins. The woman walked over to me and half hugged me and half collapsed into my arms. I looked at her and it was apparent that her face had been on the losing end of an argument with the man. That just made me really really mad. I told F to move the truck to a parking lot and I walked the woman across the street to a local chinese food landmark where we called the police. The woman (W) cried and cried and talked to me while we waited near the entrance of the restaurant. She had been on the way to the airport, being driven there by her "boyfriend". Then on the way she said she had changed her mind about leaving and her man had gotten angry at her and had started to hit her. They were struggling when they had passed my truck and the car had spun out in front of me. She had been scared and was running to me for help when the car had stopped. The police came and took statements and my information and the woman and we all went our separate ways. In the end I was glad to have helped a woman not get a beating even though I knew none of the circumstances. It just felt right.

About a week later I got a phone call from the San Diego police department. They asked me a few more questions and told me what had happened. It turns out that the woman really had been on her way to the airport but she was being forced there by her man and when she balked the man went into a rage. The policeman told me that the man that I had faced was on their 10 most wanted list and that he was the single most powerful and dangerous drug lord in the San Diego area and norther Mexico. He was shipping his woman away to another location away from her home with intent to set up a new base in another city. The policeman told me he had no idea why the dealer hadn't put a bullet between my eyes when I charged at him. He had done it many times before. There was no reason for him not to this time. He was most certainly armed and always shot first and cleaned up later and he was on his way out of the city soon.

But, the man didn't shoot me. He ran away. And nobody knows why. There were probably a lot of ways to get made dead that night with a raging drug lord's woman in my "possession". If I had grabbed her and ran we might have both got bullets in the back. If I had been 5 minutes faster I never would have been part of it. Who knows. Now it's just a story, an adventure in my life. A memory of an event, neither good or bad, just archived away waiting for an interested, patient listener.

One of many

I have had a full life and continue to do so. My younger years were seemingly insignificant yet when I recall events that have happened to me to others, I come away with a sense of accomplishment in a life well traveled. At least that's how it seems to me.

I'm going to tell some stories. A little at a time. With bad punctuation. And words that don't rhyme. Ha!

My perspective to my life is entirely my own. There are some facts. There are some made up things that have become fact. There are dreams that have mingled with reality and have become fact. There are events with witnesses and every witness will report a different story based on their own perspective of the incident. There are events that I only witnessed that have become part of my fact.

The life we have lived and the life we recall differ proportionally to the significance of the event and to the amount of time that has passed since we lived the event. My perspectives are my fact. Someone that gives me different facts change my perspective which makes new fact. Truth is, we lose so much of our memories from decay that reality is fuzzy at best. Humans have a lot of RAM, inadequate hard drive space and we never defragment our disks. Add that up and you get jumbled data that sometimes crosses boundaries into entirely new adventures.

Here's one.

I was on a roadtrip with Kay (long time ex girlfriend) and Jeff (hischool buddy) to Las Vegas and back. I was about 20 yrs old. Am 45 now so the exact numbers are fuzzy. My mom lived in LV for a while and it made a good excuse to visit her just to be in LV and have a free place to stay. I'm pretty sure it was on the way home from LV to Norman, OK (I was an OU student at the time). I drove a Subaru BRAT. Some of you may know what I'm talking about. The rest of you google images to get the idea. It is a two seater truckish kinda vehicle. I had the prerequesite stereo installed as all good teens were required to have. I put it in myself and I'm sure it was quite the frankenstein contraption but it worked. We had three people. The odd man out would either sit in the middle with the stick shift between their legs or ride in the back with all the luggage piled up on top of them to keep them warm. It was March. It was butt cold at night and going 70mph on the freeway made the wind chill factor well below zero. Strangely enough the back under the luggage and over the exhaust pipe was pretty toasty and comfortable. Where there's a will there's a way.

We decided to visit the Grand Canyon and hang out for a couple of hours on our way home. We had left LV after breakfast and the trip to the GC from LV got us there in the late afternoon. Still daylite for a couple of hours. There was a lot of snow near Flagstaff and the weather was clear and cold. Probably 40 degrees in the sun. We drove to the visitors center and found the necessary evils of moccasins, fry bread and taffy and nothing else of significance. The plan was to see the GC and check it off the list of things to do in a lifetime, not spend any real quality time there. We drove to the nearest overlook where we could park and get out and look over the edge and yell for echoes and all that touristy stuff.

There weren't many cars in the parking lot. A handful at best. We got out all happy and spry and giggly to see the giant hole in the ground. There was a significant amount of snow on the rim of the canyon and the parking lot had patches of ice and snow. We got out of the truck and bundled up. I had a gray coat that was like a ski jacket only without the puffy crap in it and it was a little more dressy looking. It had two pockets on the outside to put your hands in. Normal stuff. I'm sure I had on an OU sweatshirt and jeans. No gloves. No hat. My friends were equally bundled and ready to greet the canyon. I left the truck unlocked since we were only going to be a few feet away. No big deal.

The edge of the canyon here had big steel fences to at least make sure you had to try hard if you intended to hurl yourself over the edge. I could see no intent among those gathered that day. By the time we got to the edge of the canyon there were only a couple of other cars and all of those were beginning to load up and head back to wherever it was from whence they came. We moseyed up to the fence. And made the standard remarks and comments. I'm sure we said something about the Brady Bunch. How could you not. We were pleased with our checkmark and were making our way back to the truck to leave. There was maybe a half hour of daylight left and the temperature had dropped well below freezing. The sky was clear and the sun was a big orange rolling toward the edge of the earth.

On the way to the truck I walked across a small snow drift that sang to me. I was a fairly accomplished baseball player and could toss a ball a looooong ways. Baseballs. Snowballs. Same thing. I bent down and began fashioning a suitable projectile to suit my need to hurl an object into the depths of the GC. Farther than anyone ever in the history of ever. I got a running start and threw the snowball with all my might but the victory was shortlived. I was too far away from the edge to see where the ball was going. My buddies seen my hijinks and joined in. Maybe they just watched the majesty of my throws. I ran to the fence that separated me from the mile long drop off the cliff and began to create the perfect orb. The snowball that would be remembered. I packed it tight and got into an athletic stance and rocked and fired a perfect strike into the heart of the greatest american chasm. It was majestic against the backdrop of the setting sun. Time seemed frozen like everything else around us. Slooowwww motion. It was awesome indeed. I watched the snowy projectile as it sped away on it's perfect 30 degree up launch angle. NASA would have been in awe. A smile swept across my face as I watched the snowball go ever higher and everything seemed right with the world. Except for that stupid bug that just flew into my vision. Way to spoil everything. In slow motion I watched the flying insect as it's flight took it across the line of sight of my heroic snowball offering to the GC god. Stupid bug. Had stupid wings. Looked deformed. Really deformed. The wings and legs went all weird directions and it didn't look capable of flight. I peered closer as it flew away from me. And peered. And looked. And nearly threw up. I stood there agape. Mouth wide open. Eyes unblinking and freeaing in the twilight air. I pointed at the bug. But it was no bug.

I stood and watched as the keys to the truck flew in the most perfect arc over the metal fence. Gaining altitude. Straining for distance. I ran to the fence and watched the little bug soar over the edge of the GC and begin it's long descent to the Colorado River below. The keys flew and flew and just as they were about to disappear in to the canyon forever they came to rest in a snowbank overhanging the very last rock before the precipitous drop to the canyon floor. The made a nice neat little dark blue circle in the snow where they had disappeared from view only a couple of feet from the edge.

I turned to my buds. They didn't notice the keys. I know I started to laugh. Then I gently informed them that I had just thrown the keys to our vehicle over the edge of the GC. Actually I didn't throw them. They flew all by themselves. I had put them in the right hand outside pocket of my coat. I'm right handed and my throwing action when I tossed the snowball and caused my jacket to whip about and eject my keys from their hiding place and send them on their fateful trip over the edge.

The sun was almost over the horizon. There was one other car in the parking lot about to leave. I waved them down and told them my car was broken and to please send a park ranger when they left the park. It was almost dark and we walked back to my truck and, luckily, because I had left the door unlocked, got inside. It was freezing cold. Then I had an epiphany. I installed my own stereo. I have seen the wires to my truck. I have seen movies. I can hotwire the truck and the day will be saved. We will just drive all the way home trying not to ever turn it off and I will get a new key when we got back to OU. Easy enough. I got out and crawled upside down under the steering wheel with my feet and butt on the seat. It was really dark but there was light from the dome lights inside the truck. I found the familiar fuse box with the frankenstein stereo wires attached to it. I found the wires that went to the ignition. I think I chewed them starter wire in half. Eventually I got the wire to a hot terminal and VROOM! Yay Yay Yay. I have ruined the day and then miraculously pulled victory from the jaws of defeat.

I got everything under the dash buttoned back up and cranked up the heater. Oooooh it felt good. We got everything ready to go, put all our outerwear away and set out to make the very best of a near disaster. We went three up in the cab. I pushed in the clutch and tapped on my Kay's legs so she could part them. She pretty much had to play porn star to give me access to the gearshift. The pattern was H with first gear upper left and fourth gear down right. Reverse was farther right of fourth gear. Reverse was the most fun and the least comfortable for Kay's womanly regions. I put it in reverse, let out the clutch and reversed neatly from our parking spot. I then moved the shifter to first and began our journey out of the park.

Except the steering wheel didn't turn. At all. NOOOOOOOOO! Without the key in the ignition the steering is locked in place. We can drive anywhere we want as long as that place is straight forward or straight backward. So. There we are. Stuck again. In the dark. At an unlit parking lot on an overlook at the Grand Canyon. Dammit. At least we had heat and we had lights as long as we had gas in the truck. I had filled up before entering the park so we were aok to idle all night long cramped three up in a two seater truck in 10 degree weather.

We waited. Surely the park ranger will be along soon. I mean, we were stranded. In need of assistance. Those guys love that stuff. We waited. And waited. Then there were lights coming up behind us and the rangers pulled up next to us. They asked all the questions. I answered all the questions. They laughed. Hard. At me for throwing my keys into the Grand Canyon. Ahhh. The sweet taste of humiliation. The rangers got their super duper flashlights and we went to the edge of the canyon and I shined the light on the little shadowed dent in the pristine snow. They laughed some more.

In true gladiator fashion, the rangers decided to rescue my keys. Gallant. They left us idling and came back a couple of hours later with loads of climbing gear. Ropes, pulleys, crampons, parkas. The rangers proceeded to tie off repelling ropes and safety ropes to the metal fence and to the ranger vehicle. One of the rangers went over the edge while I shined the light on the hole my keys had made. The ranger was very careful not to cause a snowslide and make the keys go off the edge. Eventually he was able to retrieve my keys and we helped them pack all their equipment back into their vehicle. It was midnite. We thanked them mightily. They said they were happy to be of service and to please donate to the park fund if we felt the need.

I'm sure I can't be the only person to ever throw the keys to their car into the Grand Canyon but I have to be in some pretty tight company. I do know that the rangers would sit around their campfires for months or years to come and would recount their version of the story of the THE IDIOT WHO THREW HIS KEYS IN TO THE GRAND CANYON. Maybe by now I will have had only one had and the other had a steel hook. Or we were bank robbers. Or I threw my baby over the edge and the rangers saved the day. Or.......................................