Dad You Have A Face

One of my best moments of fatherhood came when traveling down a winding road on the way to my Dad's place. Donna and I worked separate shifts in order to care for John who was just about three then. I would drop John off at Dad's and Donna would pick him up about an hour or so later. On that day John was next to me on the truck seat in his car seat and as I drove down the winding tree lined road with the sun popping out from amongst the patches between leaves, John suddenly looked up at me and said rather excitedly, "Dad you have a face!" It was so funny because I had had a beard for quite a bit of his short life but had shaved it all off at least two days prior to that day. So for two days he hadn't noticed but riding in the truck it struck him. This still brings a smile to my face today. Back then we were real buddies, cheeseburger buddies in fact. We still are but it is very different now that more than twenty years have past.

Late Night Coffee

If memory serves me it must have been a Friday night sometime after my 21st birthday. Ray and I had been to a bar shooting pool and drinking beer until we almost were out of money. Which was very typical of the sort of thing we did on weekends. Both of us were almost always broke or close to it but at the end of this night out we had a couple of bucks left. We were walking back to the apartment on State Street in South Salt Lake, it was cold but not too cold. No ice or snow like there usually would be in October. But it was cold enough that a hot cup of coffee from Winchell's Donuts was very appealing. Back then a cup of coffee was only 60 cents and I think we had about two bucks left between us. The Winchell's store we were about to enter was not very big. The customer area was no greater than 15' x 10'. Not exact but probably pretty close. When you walked into the store you would be at the counter in about three steps. We had no sooner taken one of those three steps when a person at the counter turned around and told us, in no uncertain terms, to "get the hell out of here". I knew he was serious because all I saw was the barrel of a snubby pointing at me or at Ray but to me it was pointing in my direction. Definitely not a time to argue when looking down the barrel. I was sure it was a Dirty Harry hand cannon at the time. He of course did not have to ask twice as we turned and bolted for safety into the blackness behind the store. We ran until we could run no more only stopping after our lungs were dieing and our hearts were about to cave in. This would be the first time a gun was pointed at me but not the last. When it happens, if you get the time to ponder it anyway, the gun is about all you will see. Nothing else comes into focus. It appears larger than it really is after all Dirty Harry carried a .44 magnum not a .38 snub nose. But just the same death can come from the barrel of either and I wasn't about to find out that night. When we returned to the apartment about twenty minutes later, Ray looked at me and said something about he thought he went to High School with that guy but wasn't sure. We never called the police. Ray was too paranoid that the guy would send someone to find him if we did. I hope they caught him.

Anger

Anger starts as irritation, building, heating your soul all through to the bone. My heart pounds inside my chest as if it is the furious beating that will open the cavity wide for that rolling boil coming ever closer and closer to the top. Then the explosion of volcanic hate comes spewing forth burning everything in its path. The cloud of anger rises above the scorched landscape spilling its dust over the charred remains. To survive one must move swiftly to avoid the burning shards flying through the air singeing and charring anything in its path. I wasn't warned the night before of an impending eruption but found myself in its midst. The volcanic storm raged on in the early light of day. I survived and now I must clean the ash left in its wake.

"Long Bomb Touchdown"

I really have few memories of my Dad when I was young. He just wasn't around that much for memories to stick in my mind. But there was this one Sunday morning that for some reason Mom had left me behind from church. This was something that did not normally happen and I can't remember why. This left Dad and I to our selves and Sundays for my Dad meant football and beer. The first game was about to start on TV and the Cleveland Browns were going to get the ball first. My Dad looked at me and said, "Long bomb to Paul Warfield touchdown." I couldn't believe it but I saw it for myself Cleveland's first play was exactly as Dad had called it. I was struck with awe and I can't remember anything else from that morning including the second play of the game. But for one morning my Dad was the Kreskin of football.

Insomnia

Sleep does not come easy to me as I have been an insomniac for as long as I can remember. I have tried all the remedies, several medications from Doctors and over the counter, all the herbs and teas you can think of but it all remains the same and I lay there with my mind racing about something. I can remember one night laying in bed exhausted from my day and my mind would not shut down. My back hurts in this position I'd better roll over. Is that sweat running down my leg or is something crawling on me? My foot itches now. (scratch foot with other foot) Ah relief, but now my ear itches. when will it stop. I need to buy tires for the car soon I saw the tread indicators today. I wonder how much that will cost. Am I bothering Donna rolling over so much? I can't get comfortable. It's too hot in here. Did my fan get moved I can't feel it any longer? Somehow amidst this brain chatter I eventually fall asleep. And like a favorite record with a scratch on it, playing the same song over and over repeating at every turn of the vinyl album, the song can't get beyond the scratch until the needle is lifted and gently placed back into the grooves.

Life is a Candle

My life doesn't reflect the box of cherries so popular from the movie Forrest Gump, but rather my life is like that of a candle. I have been burning brightly deep orange and yellows for some time now. Over the years the candle has gone out a few times and has needed to be re-lit in order to burn again. The flame goes out more often than before burning brightly at first but eventually the flame starts to flicker and the molten wax soon smothers the flame to smoke. Once re-lit the wax has hardened beneath the flame and the process repeats as the pool of wax grows until it nips at the flame. Again the liquid snuffs it out and the smoke fills our senses giving us the sign to re-lite the flame. We wait until the wax cools or we pour some out and allow more room for the flame to burn. I am in this stage of the candle's life. My flame burns brightly some days and others it is barely distinguishable as lit. The flame returns to burn again and again and again. My candle has been tall and deep with ample wax to melt over and over. Can you describe your candle?

Loved That Jazz

I started playing the saxophone in sixth grade. I wanted to play the trumpet but Mom didn't have much money and we had this horn in the family already. Besides the band teacher told my Mom my lips were too big for the trumpet and I should try something else. So the saxophone became mine. Doug, my older brother, had played it in school too. I imagine Mom had originally bought it used for him because the ivory keys were more worn than he could have done in such a short time. Being in the band was alright during Junior High inCopperas Cove Texas but given a choice I would rather have been on the football team. I was just a bit too fat and not athletic enough to make the team. That husky frame was perfect for developing good breathing techniques for the horn and I quickly improved. Later we moved to Salt Lake City Utah and the band this school had was a jazz band. My love for jazz and the blues began and I quickly became the first chair alto sax player. We showcased our talents during school assemblies and inter-school contests. We never won. But one morning I announced to the teacher, a short red-haired thirty-ish gal, that I had bought a book on improve and had been practicing. She was impressed and an hour later before the school assembly, about ten minutes before it was to start, she came over to me and told me I had the solo in the opening song. I replied there isn't a solo in the music as she laughed and said there is now, just improvise. I was sweating bullets from that moment on. I'll queue you she told me. Well it happened and I somehow managed to stay on key and for about a minute or so I played like I never played before. Ending the solo on the highest note an alto sax can do and blasting it for all I was worth. The school loved it and I have never felt so elated. I couldn't play again until I caught my breath. Soloing without written music was such a rush I felt like I was face jumping the Half Dome.