What's next...Mr. Nappy?

Well, Don Imus has really done it this time. I don't even like the guy and I'm laughing at all the liberals (of which he is one) trying to burn him at the stake for calling the Rutgers women's basketball team a bunch of "nappy headed hos". Oh my, how could he state the obvious! Let's get something straight. If you wander through this world of ours, you'll soon realize that there are very few truly beautiful people, at least in the physical sense. They are all overweight, underwieght, too tall, too skinny, too fat, wrong color hair, wrong color eyes, crooked eyes, crooked teeth, crooked ears, one leg short, skinny calves, thunder thighs, bowed legs, big butt, no butt, bigmouth, big lips, no lips, no brains...need I go on? The point is this.
As perfect as I am now, it's hard to believe that I was once known as Brillo pad, steel wool, sheephead, tumbleweed, SOS, and, oh my God!... Nappy head. Frankly, I don't know if I can stand any more of the cry babies whining about what they were called on the playground when they were kids that consequently caused the neurotic feelings they have now, because a dimwit named Don Imus has repeated the obvious about black, women basketball players having , yes...nappy hair. Might I add my own two cents worth? They also look like a bunch of Big Birds when they attempt to play basketball. They are what they are. Nappy headed. I'm not sure about the ho part, but then, turn on any rap song anytime and hear them degraded by black men ( if one could actually call them men).
I needn't recite the nasty, vile things they get away with on the radio waves on a daily basis to make my point. All I can say is this. One of my numerous nicknames is Jake the Rake. Which brings me to my point. If the Rutgers basketball team is a bunch of nappy headed hos, does that make me a nappy headed rake?

Are we there, yet?

We all wonder sometimes exactly where we're headed. Don't feel alone. Why, this year alone, I've had the feeling a dozen times at least. So, where are we headed? You might ask, what do I mean? Well, there are those in life who seem to just have a knack for purpose and direction. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not some lost soul wandering in the wilderness. But I do believe there are times when I really don't know my purpose or where I'm headed. I used to think I did, then things change and you start searching all over again. Trying to get your feet on the ground, trying to be happy and make others happy. I feel like doing what a friend once told me he does when things get confusing. Go sit on the grave of my father and talk to him. And listen to the silence. I've tried it before and it doesn't work...only the sound of the desert wind rustling in the trees of early spring, bringing in the next dust storm. Maybe it's supposed to be that way. But instead of my father, it's God watching silently to see what I will do next with his offerings. Will you even notice what he has given you to work with? He's waiting. Patiently waiting. It's up to you.

Holy Smokes!

Tyler decided that he liked his bike after all. Mom and I always worry when he takes to the road. Lots of dumb people out there in large vehicles. Anyway, the first thing he did was get in shape. Then I got this phone call from him. "Dad, I'm going to ride my bike to dfjgsjjbs. I said "What?" He repeated "I'm going to ride my bike to Lubbock". FROM WHERE? Temple, Texas. It's three days away. Congratulations Tyler on a job well done.

Whoa nelly!

It's been a while since I paid a visit, but I can assure you that my brain hasn't been lazy. I went back to school this summer at age 50. Nope, I didn't type that wrong. And just why would I put myself through this at my age? Simple. At the end of my first class, which was composed of all kinds of adult students who had, more or less, completed half of their degree, but never finished. The professor asked if there was anyone who might wish to say something. I raised my hand and spoke. "To all my classmates, I would like to say one thing. It took each one of you a lot to make the decision to go back to school at your age, so take some advice from me. In 1976, I quit school. This year marks my 30th year of being a dumbass. I don't ever intend to quit and settle for second best again, and I hope you share my feelings." The class erupted in applause as we adjourned.

The time has come.

Every father has certain things in their life that they must face. Regardless of how one tries to prepare, there are things that cannot be prepared for. I knew that this day was coming and had years to get ready, but I couldn't. Tonight is the end of an era in my house. My last son, John, plays in his last football game. I've heard many say "it's just a game". That is a matter of opinion. If anything, it is the game of life. You compete, you dedicate youself to something bigger than yourself, you sweat, you bleed, you learn to win and you learn to lose, but most of all, you learn to persevere. I have had the priveledge of watching each of my sons turn from boys into young men on the football field. Football is a place for a son to put his accomplishments on display for his mom and dad. Does that mean that your son has to be a starter for you to be proud of him? Hardly. What matters is that he knows, when the last lights are turned off and the last padlock is put on the chainlink gates to the field, that his mom and dad love him and are so proud of him that they could burst. And thirty years from now, when no one knows whether he played one down, or every down, he will fondly remember those cold El Paso nights. Way back then,when the band played and smell of popcorn was wafting on the breeze, and he will smile. Congratulations to all those who persevered!

Where does the time go?

You know, something that has been a recurring thought lately is: where does time go? Suddenly, as if I have always been fifty, I realize that it was 22 years ago when we moved into our first house. Donnita and I were living in an apartment that I had finagled from a management company in a horse trade when my son Jacob was born. Those were the days. Not a pot to pee in, the oil field had just gone bust and I was determined to make it. My brother loaned me the money to buy a trailer and a steam cleaner with a 500 gallon water tank on it so I could make some money. Houston's covered in mildew, and all I could see out there in front of me was a sea of work, just waitin' for some cleanin' by me. What I didn't realize was that all this had to be done in the dark of night. So, every night about 2:30 am, I would get up and go clean sidewalks and driveways until the sun would finally come up and I'd get chased away by store owners and the like showing up to open their businesses. I must say that I got to where I could actually tell the difference between the type of gum I was blasting off. When it was heated up, you could smell spearmint or peppermint, apple or watermelon. And it never ceased to amaze me what pigs people can be. I just realized why, to this day, it irks me to no end to see people spit on a sidewalk, and especially spit out their gum on one. I remember how excited I was when Donnita bought me an FM radio with little headphones so I could listen to music while my brain wasted away looking at concrete and gum particles washing down into the gutter. The year was 1983 and we moved out of the apartment because we caught a cockroach crawling on the baby crib. We may have been poor, but no cockroach was going to cohabit our house. Everyone was young and still went out western dancing, but that gradually stopped as more kids were born and families started anew. At that point , things began to focus around kids birthdays at pizza parlors and weddings of other folks we knew. Many of those marriages have long since dissolved, probably for good reason, thankfully most without kids involved. As time passed, everyone started chasing the almighty dollar and moving around to new houses and new cars and trucks. The kids got broken bones and had missing teeth and the parents started losing hair and getting fatter. The bills got fatter, too. And still, I had no success in business for any length of time. With one last effort, our old house in Spring was sold and off we went to El Paso to start over with a clean slate. I thought. Had I known at the time what I was getting myself into, I would have gone to work for Home Depot. Countless days and weeks and months and years of struggling to pay bills with little in sight save more bills and more months and years of struggling. I found it much like being put in prison without parole. Then, one day things began to improve. Kind of like twinkling starlight, I wondered if I really saw it . But ya... there it was, a little tiny light urging me on as if daring me to leave the tunnel of darkness I had been in for so long. As the light has shown brighter, I am starting to see many things more clearly now, than ever before. Those around me that I value, and those who are best left alone. I have even considered, for the first time in my life, forgiving my father for leaving me when I was nine years old. Nothing can fill the void but I do know that he didn't die on purpose and that is comforting at least. And I know that I got this temper from somebody other than my mom. I also know that I learned to persevere on my own, through years in the weight room getting in shape for the football games that my father never saw me play and that my mom hardly knew existed. So, I did gain something from being left to fend for myself. You know what I find interesting? I always feel sympathy for kids from single mom families and I'm never sure why. Maybe I've even learned a smidgeon of compassion. In any case, time has flown by and we are no longer on the uphill side of life. I keep getting reunion notices that remind me that as much as people pursue wealth and material things, they are haunted by the fact that they have let friendships and family drop by the wayside because they didn't have the time. Well, better make time now, or their will be no friendships when we are old and gray. I know one thing is certain. I have told my sons as many times as they will listen those three little words. And I need to tell my wife, too. "I love you." Say it now while you have time. None of us knows how much of that prized commodity we have. And, after all, time does fly.

Gearing up.

That's a term for "getting ready to kick some proverbial ass". Even Lance Armstrong started at the same place as everyone else. The Beginning. It takes years of trial and error to find your groove sometimes. The ones you read about succeeding in sports or business at twenty years old are prodigies. The rest of us have to work at it. Tyler has been working on a new thing. The triathalon. Miles of running per week, working out at the gym, swimming and cycling. In his first and only triathalon to date, he came in third. It was a small event, but still quite competitive. Turns out that not everyone is a swimmer, and Tyler was the first one out of the pool in light of the fact that he only has his "floating on my back" certification. But, there he was, out of the pool and onto his WalMart mountain bike. It was flat out sad to see these guys behind him jump on their $2000.00 bikes and take off to catch him. About five miles out in the boonies, Jacob and I spotted two guys coming over the top of the hill and neither was Tyler. To our amazement the next guy to show was Tyler on his mountain bike. The seat had fallen and here he comes with knees 'a pumpin' at right angles to his bike. Looked like a damn sewing machine with determination dressed in a goofy helmet. As we cheered him on he made it back to home base in third place. His back was half dead but as he threw down the bike and took off running, you could see that someone was gonna pay. If he hadn't lost so much time, the afterburners would have smoked these two guys in the lead. One of them told him afterward that when he saw Tyler pass him going the other direction, he was glad that he had gained his lead in cycling or Tyler would him killed him in the running. Well, as the event ended, Tyler came zooming in strong at third place. This week, after much deliberation, Tyler will be getting his first used Triathalon bike from Ebay. That doesn't imply cheap. Just a few bucks off the ridiculous price. Anything that costs that much should have a motor. Gearing up has begun. So time, time will tell. Remember the old addage, "It's not where you start that matters, it's where you finish."