Forgive Me

By twenty-one I had rebuilt three dead cars from this yard or that barn but had never owned any of them. I bought this one with my own savings. I did not ask permission so there was no advice from my parents, only grim silence. The old ‘66 Mustang only had the straight six, no a/c, no FM or stereo, had junkyard hubcaps (which Sandy called baby moons), and was on its third paint job, a dark turquoise over coral pink over a mystery factory color. I paid $500 cash to a passing stranger from Utah who took six months to mail me the title. I drove it for a year before we married and a year afterwards, with no registration, no inspection sticker, expired out of state license plates, and no insurance. No one ever found out because it couldn’t go fast enough to warrant a traffic stop. When we sold it, the buyer took his son and I on a test drive where I heard a body part fall off the front end! I turned to look out the back window and there was the chrome running mustang bouncing down the street. I turned back holding my breath. They had not noticed it amongst all the other rattling bits. He gave me $450 and I signed the unregistered title over, not knowing that jumping the taxman would prevent him from registering the title in his name. But, it never came back to me. He probably slipped a $5 bill to the clerk.

The things we did that we pray our own kids never have to. God forgives me because he sees all. He knows I drew the hand called trial and error. It’s not a bad deal but it wears me down because it shortchanges the ones I love. I know, it’s not something to worry about. But I pray my then wife has forgotten a few things and I hope my daughters forgive me for asking if they are taking care of business. They can’t see the map in my mind, the one marking where the all bodies are buried. 

I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools - friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty - and said 'do the best you can with these, they will have to do'. And mostly, against all odds, they do. - Anne Lamott

Fat Albert

I was a dude, in it just for the fun, and didn’t ride in anything higher than NIRA sanctions. But one night in Elgin, my very first show, was kinda crazy. A retiring Darrell Royal christened the new arena with a bottle of champagne against my gate, leaving all the glass right in front of my chute. My draw was Fat Albert, named for a character in Bill Cosby’s night club routine. He was ranked 15th in the world which is not uncommon for small shows. World class outfits like the Steiner Ranch have to keep the cash flow steady. My teammates said, “He doesn’t do the normal spinning or rocking. He twists in the middle like you’re wringing out a wet dishrag and he does it with all four hooves off the ground. At the same time he kicks his hind legs backward so it launches you.” I said, “You know you’re describing a house cat, right?” All I remember from those 1.2 seconds was the gate, me face down in the “dirt”, and the clown, a young Leon Coffee, sailing over me like an olympic hurdler. Forty years later, Leon is in multiple rodeo halls of fame. In his profession they should be called balls of fame. All joking aside, we had some life altering injuries and one death. There were no flak jackets, helmets, etc, as there is now. I believe we were idiots. Handsome, charming, and toting a UT degree, but seriously, idiots.

If everything seems under control, you're just not going fast enough. - Mario Andretti

Hook, Line, and Sinker

Interviews were important. How much resume does anyone have at twenty-one? You need something to set yourself apart from the herd. I decided to apply for the job of refilling vending machines. It was a small vendor with just one contract, the seven acre IBM plant. Fill, clean, and repair broken machines alone in the dark until 3 a.m. I had never seen vending machine innards but I needed work and it wasn't going to cost me anything to try. I reported on time to the owner’s home. He was in a wheel chair wearing nothing but a towel and dripping wet from the shower. The languid interview told me this was a chore he detested. He knew nothing of mechanics which made it difficult to show him that I did. He shelved his decision, I walked outside, looked at the sky in disgust, then looked at my ’69 Cadillac Fleetwood. This will make a dandy prop. Turn the key but not long enough to start the engine. Do it again. Raise the hood and get my tools from the trunk. Crawl under the car and remove the starter making lots of superfluous clanking noises. Rub a little grease on my face and knock on the door, starter in hand. "Sir, my starter died. There is a Hi-Lo Auto Parts at the end of the block. May I leave my car in your driveway just long enough to get a new starter? Thank you.” Walk down the block with the starter, a can of WD-40 and a rag in my pocket. Spray the starter all over and wipe it clean. Walk back and reinstall the “new” starter. Don't forget the clanking noises. Crank her up and let her hum. As I'm packing up to leave a teenage boy comes outside and says, "My dad asked if you could come back inside for a minute." I smile. Hook, Line, and Sinkaaaahhh!!!!…free Twinkies all summer.

A graduation ceremony is an event where the commencement speaker tells thousands of students dressed in identical caps and gowns that individuality is the key to success. – Robert Orben

Change is inevitable, except from vending machines. – Larry the Cable Guy