I like this decade of my life.

Life to this point has been rewarding for me.  Jackie and I have been married for 23 years. I think we have a good relationship since I probably irritate her more than she lets on. We made it! At times I think our businesses put a strain on our relationship but we never really seem to get mad at each other very much.  Again, she probably gets more irritated at me then me at her but she hides it pretty well. 

 It was an unusually hard journey for us early this year. We felt as if the world was crashing in on us in January but we determined to get through it and get through it together. It is always rewarding to look back from a hilltop to see the valley you just walked through.

Michael has so much potential but he doesn’t realize it.  We have tried to guide him but he doesn’t apply what we advise him to do. As a 21 year old he has to be left to make his own his decisions and live with the consequences. How my heart aches for him and how I wish to see him grow more and start down life’s path. He has the needed determination to succeed and I think he is just now starting to realize it.  He also needs to gain some patience. I’m sure he will be successful but he needs to find his direction.

I wonder where Stephen will be a year or two from now. He has a lot of potential but seems to be more concerned with partying than any other thing. I partied at his age so I guess I understand. He is pretty steady and soft hearted. He should go far but he needs to find himself. He started college this year. I believe he is taking his studies as serious as we can expect Stephen to take them. He has done well working for us at the smoke shop. He had an opportunity to basically run the place while our manager was away. He did very well, I think he took it seriously and I feel he might have what it takes to one day run our businesses.  We will have to see what he decides for his life but he will do well whatever it is.

I was sad this summer.  This summer I watched and listened as two of my female employees talked about their weddings. Specifically, I watched Lucy as she pretty much planned every aspect of her wedding all the way down to making the decorations and invitations. The excitement I heard in her voice and saw in her eyes made me think about a poem I wrote a couple of years ago. The poem started out as a list of what I missed out on by not having a daughter. I wish I had a daughter to need me.  Maybe it is an odd desire and maybe it is just a case of missing what I did not have.

Somehow Talita found us. When she first arrived in Indiana my biggest concern was not allowing anything bad to happen to her. I think I was probably overprotective of her from day one which is just the parent in me.   Her mother seems to really sacrifice to put her through med school but her father does not appear to have very much to do with her.  I think she has an impact on my desire for a daughter but I can’t say it is negative or positive.  Regardless she has become the daughter I didn’t have, my Brazilian daughter or minha linda filha brasileira. I suppose it was almost providential that she found us.  She needed a father and I needed a daughter and somehow she found me, how unlucky for her.  She deserves a father who really cares for her and I’m happy to be the one, even if it is as a surrogate. Today I believe I wouldn’t love a daughter of my own more than I do her. I want the same for her that I want for my sons; happiness and success.

Our businesses have done very well this year. The Brazil Store has performed well this year. Jackie takes the ups and downs of daily sales more to heart than I do but I understand her frustration.  Terre Haute is having a good year also. For a startup Smoke n Peace is doing well. I feel good that our businesses are moving in positive directions.  

As I close in on my birthday I have to say that it has been a good year for me.  I have had a few downs but they have been outweighed by the positives of the year. I would also have to conclude that my 40’s are turning out to be the best decade of my life.

If you were 20 years younger I still wouldn't go out with you.

As always this post has not been proof read.

My Mom and Dad had an Insurance agency. One of the employees, Amy, was about 19 or 20 when she began working at the agency. Amy was an absolutely beautiful person. I say beautiful person because she was not just a cute girl, she had a great personality. Amy had such a great disposition, kindness for everyone, and positive attitude that you could help but fall in love with her. She was around our family for several years and I think we all thought of her as the youngest sibling.

I never saw Amy really sad, mad, or upset in any way until she broke up with one of her boyfriends. Amy moped around the office and you could see she was upset. My dad, in an effort to make Amy feel better told her, “Amy, if I was twenty years younger I would ask you out.” Amy without blinking an eye said, “Bob, If you were twenty years younger I still wouldn’t go out with you.” My dad was never speechless but that day Amy shut him down.

The only favor he did for me was to die while I was on vacation.

My dad never met a stranger. I only know of one person he said he didn’t like. That person was a relative and we will call him Stan. Pop never thought Stan was a good person. Pop thought Stan mistreated his wife, was cheap and downright mean.

Pop and Mother were on vacation in Florida when they received the word that Stan had passed away. They didn’t return for his funeral, which was somewhat of a surprise to us. When they returned from their vacation I ask Pop, “Why didn’t you come home for Stan’s funeral?” He said, “ Stan did one favor for  me over my lifetime,  do you know what that was?” I said, “No, what was it?” Pop said, “He died while I was on vacation so I didn’t have to go to his funeral.”

Saturday Morning Cartoons

As always this has not been proof read.

Saturday morning cartoons were what I lived for. Starting and 7:00 a.m. and ending at noon.  Yes, all five hours of cartoon bliss. Saturday morning was when kids ruled the television because all three channels were broadcasting nothing but programming designed for us.

All the networks had a “New Saturday Morning Line-up Preview Show” which would be shown on a Friday night in late summer or early fall. This was the big night,  It was the kids equivalent of the new model year vehicles being showcased at the local dealerships. Each network promoted the new line-up of shows for weeks in advance and the excitement would build.

You and your friends would make plans for the big event. Would you be spending the night at their house or would they be spending the night at yours? What kind of snacks would be having?  Should we set up our sleeping bags by the TV or what? So many things to plan and so little time.

When the big night finally arrived nothing could move us away from the T.V. for those precious 60 to 90 minutes. After the preview we couldn’t wait for the morning to  arrive so we could see each new show in  entirety. We had it all planned out. From 7:00 a.m. to 7:30 we’ll watch X from 7:30 a.m. to 8:00 a.m. will watch Y and so on.

You could count on Saturday morning starting with the Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Hour. This was one of the only constants in the Saturday line-up over the years. After that the rest of the Saturday morning cartoon line-up including shows such as the following: The Land of the Lost,  New Flintstones with teenage Pebbles, Bam Bam, and Bad luck Schleprock. Others included: Jabber Jaw, Space Ghost, Hong Kong Phooey, Scooby Doo, Josie and the Pussycats, Superfriends, The Hair Bear Bunch,  and on and on. I look back at the Sid and Marty Kroft shows, H.R. Pufinstuff and Sigmund the Seamonster, and wonder if they were stoned when they created them.

At 11:30 we knew that another Saturday morning was winding down. The last cartoon of the morning was usually a real dude that wouldn’t last the entire season. There was disappointment when the last cartoon was over but we always had next week to look forward too!

Let's go to Speedway!

As always this has not been proof read.

My sister Starla was a want to be joy rider. What is a joy rider? A joy rider is a teen who doesn’t have a license but still takes their parents car for drive. I had several friends that did this, I did it, I’m sure a good number of teens still do this today. Starla on the other hand was never too successful at joy riding.

Our oldest brother, Robin, had a Ford LTD. It was built in the late 70’s when vehicles were still the size of Sherman Tanks. A real piece of Detroit iron! Robin was 13 years older than me and married with a couple of step children. His car was parked at our house and keys left on the dinning room table.

One morning I watched as Starla fiddled with the keys several times before asking Karla, my other sister, and I if we wanted to ride to Speedway. Now, Speedway was a gas station/convienence mart about 2 miles from our house. Karla declined to take the trip were I was more than happy to accompany her at the temptation of a candy bar and a coke.

Starla and I walk to the LTD and climbed inside. She carefully adjusted the seat and tilted the steering wheel. Starla inserted the key in the ignition and vehicle’s engine soon roared to life.

Now, a late 1970’s Ford LTD was a large vehicle. I said it was a real piece of Detroit iron because it was, it was huge. This vehicle was a land yacht with a 351 cubic inch V8 engine. Also, my sister Starla is not the tallest person; in fact she is really quite short. I said she had adjusted the seat and steering wheel but she did not bother to adjust the mirrors.

Starla started the car, put it in reverse and proceeded to back into the closest tree to the driveway. Upon hitting the tree she immediately full it forward back into the same place it had be prior to the start of our joy ride. We got out of the car to assess the damage, of which I didn’t care because I wasn’t driving. The entire rear quarter panel had been caved in and Starla was about to melt down. It wasn’t but a few minute before Starla had a melt down and called Pop on the phone to let him know what had happened.

A melt down for Starla included a lot of tears. Pop was the type of guy to fold when he was confronted by a few tears so Starla pretty much got out of any real trouble.

When you go to the bathroom, aim for the toilet.

As always this has not been proof read.

My boys are about two and one-half years apart in age. If you have reared boys you can imagine the mess they made at 5 and 7 years old. In their minds, the idea of peeing directly into the toilet was a mere suggestion and was something you did when you weren’t in a hurry, which wasn’t very often.  As I listened to them in the bathroom I very rarely heard the familiar sound of a boy tinkling into the toilet without first hearing the sound of urine hitting the bathtub, wall, floor, toilet seat, and finishing with a last little blast that actually makes the water on water sound.

Frustrated with the boy’s inability to aim while tinkling, my wife and discussed a possible solution. After many different ideas we came with this: I placed a small bowl of Cheerios on the tank lid of the toilet. I instructed each Boy to drop one Cheerio into the toilet prior to doing their business. Once the Cheerio is in the toilet they must try and destroy it while tinkling.  Good idea, and it worked for a while.

I noticed that the Cheerio bowl was getting emptied in a short amount of time. I filled the bowl and placed on the back of the toilet. Shortly after that I observed Stephen heading into the bathroom. I heard the toilet lid close and then complete silence. Curious to see what he was doing I crept to the door and opened it quickly. Stephen was sitting on the toilet lid, looking at one of his books while enjoying a fresh bowl of Cheerios.

Riding in a car: Zero Gravity and Beatings!

Riding in a car

 I do not proof these so please forgive any typos.

The 60’s and 70’s were dangerous times to be a kid as a vehicle passenger. There was not a child safety seat in sight or seat belt laws for that fact. It was anarchy in a passenger vehicle and the kids were in charge.  We road in the back of the Vista Cruiser Station wagon floating around in zero gravity, climbing from front to back again all while traveling at 55 mph, 60 mph if Pop wanted to average a mile a minute. Who needed an amusement park when you had the Vista Cruiser, full tank of gas and a father who liked to watch the mayhem through the rear view mirror?

My mom had a breaking point when it came down to our behavior. I’m not sure if we really ever determined exactly what pushed her over the line but we knew when it happened. Oh there were warnings but then she would clearly announce that she was pulling the car over and the beatings would begin. My mom could hit the brakes on the vehicle in such a way the caused my sisters and I to gently slide to the front of the vehicle which gathered us in one jumbled mess by the front seat. At the point the vehicle came to a stop we were all in mother's reach. That’s when the beatings would begin; no one could get away fast enough. Mother could hit each one of us within seconds and have the vehicle back up to cruising speed without breaking a sweat.

I remember one trip to Florida, it was my sisters, mom, grandmother, me and a bag fresh oranges. My sisters and I were probably under ten at the time. All three of us had a little gadget called a citrus sipper. The citrus sipper was a small plastic device that you inserted into a fresh orange in order to sip the juice out of the orange. The citrus sipper required that you squeeze the orange while rotating it in your hands. Inevitably you would get orange juice all over your hands. For me, I could never stand to have dirty or sticky hands. To this day I hate maple syrup because you always end up with some on your hands. I do not like that tacky feeling that comes with syrup on your hands nor do I like the smell of maple. Sticky floors and being touched are also on the list of things I hate. Anyway back to the story.

Our grandmother had given us an orange and citrus sipper which kept us occupied for a while. Upon finishing our grandmother removed our citrus sippers and threw the spent orange out of the window as we blasted along the interstate at a grand 55 MPH.

Sticky from the orange, tired and cranky from being cramped up in the backseat for several hours my sisters and I began to become restless.  It started as it always starts with: “she’s touching me!” …and remember I can’t stand sticky things. I don’t really liked being touched so sticky hands touching me set me off.    As the problems escalated my mother made the announcement: “you kids straighten up or I’ll pull this car over!” Now we knew we had a few more warnings coming so we continued, or at least we thought we had a few more warnings. My grandmother also knew what was coming and she was trying to calm the situation.

The additional warning never came. Mother yanked the steering wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes. The girls, the suitcases, oranges and I gently slid to the front of the vehicle. Mother reached over the back seat and started from right moving to the left. Our grandmother was watching in horror as the “beatings” began.  I laid on the far left pinned to the front seat by a suitcase and helpless to only watch as my mom went from Karla to Starla and then to me. My beating was not as bad since she had tired by the time she got to me.  When mother was done with us we were all in tears quietly sobbing to ourselves. Actually, Starla and I were sobbing before she even got to us.  Mother put the car in gear and our trip continued down the interstate. My grandmother, feeling bad for my sisters and I tried to make us feel better by handing each of us an orange and a citrus sipper. About 60 miles down the road it all started over agian.

A powder horn and poof go your eyebrows.

Pop was the second to the youngest of 10 or 12 children. He grew up in small Indiana town.  His sister, Nellie, was several years older, married to a farmer named Wilber and they lived several miles from town. Pop would stay with Nellie and Wilber for days at a time during the summer months.

One visit to Nellie and Wilber’s farm found Pop playing in one of the equipment barns. As he explored every inch of the timber framed structure he happened across a powder horn. Yes, a genuine bullhorn, with strap, containing black powder. Pop quickly placed the powder over his shoulder and resumed his explorations but not a Bob Wilson, know he was Daniel Boone. Lacking the necessary equipment to complete his ensemble as a real life pioneer, explorer, and soldier, he quickly found another way to use the explosive contents of his find.

Pop knew what gunpowder was for and what it did but that didn’t stop him from just making sure it was true. He stealthily crept through the kitchen nabbing a large box of strike anywhere wooden matches while Nellie’s back was turned. He made sure not to shake the box matches for fear he would tip his sister off to his presence and the possible mischief he was planning. Matches, gunpowder, and a twelve-year-old boy, each taken individually are not bad things. Combine the three and you have hours of fun or impending disaster.

With the powder horn draped over his shoulder and matches rattling in his pocket with each step, Pop headed off behind the barn to experiment with the black powder. “Okay, I’ll pour just a little out on the ground and light it” Pop thought to himself. He poured out a little pile of powder, about the size of a dime, and threw a match on it. Poof, the powder burns and a small amount of smoke climbs into the air a few feet and quickly dissipates. He try’s this several more times before ending his day of exploration around the farm. After dinner he heads up to bed, anxious for the morning when he will be heading back to town and where he can show his new treasure to all his pals.

Back at home; Pop begins his day by showing his younger brother, Mickey, the magic of gunpowder. They begin making the rounds through neighborhood. Stopping at each friend’s house and showing them what a little pile of gunpowder and match will do. As he moves from house to house each friend continues on to the next. Eventually he amasses a group of boys a dozen strong.  The boys decide to break for lunch and meet later that afternoon to resume their crusade to spread the gospel of gunpowder and demonstrate its awesome power.

Side note to the story: I was once a boy, I have raised two boys and I know boys can only do something so many time before they have to increase the level of danger. Example: Ramping your bike off a one-foot high piece of plywood is only fun for a short time. You’ll begin to feel the urge and then you’ll increase the height of the ramp. This cycle repeats itself until finally someone gets hurt and hopefully it isn’t you. Well, this was the case with Pop and his buddies on that fateful day.

Pop and his friends meet at the predetermined time ready to continue their mission: spread the good news about gunpowder. The first stop they make is a real success because he mistakenly pours out a quarter sized pile of powder instead of the normal dime sized. The powder goes off with more flash followed by darker smoke causing the boys to ooh and ah. Feeling cocky about the show he just put on they head off to the next house ready for another evangelistic message.

The day is coming to an end and Pop wanted this last stop to be a great show.  They boys all gather around the back porch of the last convert’s house as Pop pours out a half dollar sized pile of powder. POOF, a big flash and the blackest smoke produced of any of the demonstrations today. OOOH, AHHH, and Pop is a real hero. But as all boys do… he couldn’t stop there. “Just one more boys” he says as he pours out another half dollar sized pile. POOF…ohh, ahh.

One of Pop’s buddies says: “Hey Bob, do it one more time but pour out a great big pile!” It wasn’t a dare. It wasn’t a challenge. It was a reckless encouragement to a boy, and later as a man, who needed little encouragement to do anything that bordered on reckless. Pop thinks to himself: dime size pile equals small flash and a little puff of smoke, half dollar size pile equals bigger flash and blacker puff of smoke, huge pile equals huge flash and huge puff of black smoke.

Here is where things went wildly wrong. Pop empties the powder horn on the back porch while every boy watches with anticipation. He opens the box of matches to find he is down to the last one. When he sees the almost empty box he says: “Gather around boys, I only have one more match and I don’t want the wind to blow it out!” Everyone gathers in close, making sure they shelter Pop from the wind. Pop strikes the match and throws it on the powder.

Keep this in mind: A little pile of black powder basically fizzles and smokes. A big pile will flash brightly, producing a high amount of heat while simultaneously producing a small, but thick, mushroom shaped cloud of dark smoke. This was taking place on a small covered porch and 65 years ago when the average house would not have had air conditioning. The porch had screen door that led directly into the kitchen where the mom was preparing dinner for the boy’s family and expected guest that would be joining them.

All right, back to the story. POOOOOF! The powder flashes and burns with extreme heat. All hell has just broken loose! One by one the boys start dropping off the porch while screaming that they can’t see. As the powder burns out the boys are now rubbing their eyes and will slowly  regain their sight. The smoke from the powder is rolling off the porch sealing and flowing directly into the kitchen, where mom is preparing diner. The mom starts yelling, “The house in on fire, the house is on fire!” The boy’s father runs into the kitchen to find that there is no fire, just smoke. Hearing a few of the boy’s on the back porch whimpering, HH

while tending to their minor burns, he heads out the door to ask, “What the hell just happened?”

Here’s the scene: Pop’s hat had a plastic bill on it that melted from the heat. It had looked like an Admirals cap but was distorted and discolored now. Pop still had most of his hair but lost his eyebrows, most of the boys weren’t that lucky.  All the boys had back on and around their faces except where they had been rubbing their eyes. Pop recalled they all looked as if they had been in a minstrel show. A couple of the boys were crying and had minor burns that needed some attention but caused no permanent scaring.

More of this story at another time.

About my Dad

My dad was a unique individual. We called him Pop. I never knew why he was given that handle and I doubt any of my siblings could give the reason either. He used to entertain strangers, friends, and family with story after story of things that happened during his life. At the end of any family gathering Pop would finish  the evening by relating several of his stories to us. We could recite most of the stories by heart but that didn’t stop us from listening to them over and again.

A few years ago he passed away after a long battle with cancer. During his illness he never lost his since of humor and continued to entertain us with his stories. Since his passing I often think of him and the stories he told. I thought these stories needed to be written down for others to enjoy. My only concern in relating these stories is that our sense of humor is somewhat dry and demented. I’m not sure how some people will take these but I thought I would blog them anyway. My goal will be to try posting a story or two per week.