Semesters

The last few months at my household can best be described as “trying”.  Throw in two major holidays and a job change on top of a semester at school that was not going my daughter’s way and you have a really good recipe for the perfect storm. I think all three of us felt like we were the one carrying the entire load, and while I know this was not the case, if you feel that way does it really matter?

Fortunately the new year has started off much better. Of course I have I have to qualify this statement with the fact that it is Winter; the arm pit of seasons. I don’t necessarily lose my will to live during this time, but my want often suffers! But we finally got that new semester the three of us had been holding our collective breaths for. A fresh start. One can only say “hold on, it’s almost over” so many times before they too begin to lose hope, but often this is the only option. We practice our breathing lessons.

We all live our lives trying to make it over that next hump. Friday’s paycheck, the big test or the boss’s vacation…if I can just hang on until…Fortunately school, like the four seasons, is broken up in to manageable clips. Even a lizard in search a hot rock like me gets tired of sweating! Change keeps us both fresh and on our toes. The only activity more fun than decorating for Christmas is packing things up and enjoying a Spartan household, for about a week. Happiness comes in semesters.

Really isn’t everything temporary? The things we love don’t last forever, and would we truly love them if they did? If Santa came every night we eventually would become so tired of baking cookies that we might slip him a store-bought one every now and then *gasp*. The danger lies in forgetting that the bad times are temporary as well.

So don’t quit your job or leave your spouse just yet; neither of those operate on the semester system, and really they are not the things we need to change anyway. Math will pass, that demanding client will cycle and eventually the air will warm. It may not happen tomorrow, but there is always next semester.

It's not far...

My older brother moved around a lot in his almost thirty year military career, and while this offered me the opportunity to enjoy a few low cost trips to some cool cities, we really didn't see each other much. When he ended up a few hours away in Opelika Alabama the entire family was ecstatic! I don’t mind air travel, but it’s complicated and expensive; just being able to get in the car and visit for the weekend was a huge bonus.

But one of the first things I realized when I struck out on my first visit there was that the trip from Milledgeville to Opelika was also complicated. Turn here…drive a few miles on this two lane…look for this turn…there is no sign, but there’s a big tree…It wasn't that bad, but it wasn't like taking the interstate to Atlanta either. When I mentioned the trip to a friend he explained it to me in true Southern fashion, “it’s not that far, but there really is no good way to get there”. Exactly!

This was a more than a few years ago now and I will say that with the addition of the Fall Line Freeway the trip is certainly much easier. The new highway is four lanes, divided by a grassy median, with speed limits in some sections of sixty five miles per hour!  Progress, finished just in time for my brother to move away!

I ended up on a short section of this beautiful highway yesterday as I ventured from Milledgeville to Gordon. I understand that the ultimate goal of connecting two of Georgia’s larger cites (Columbus with Augusta) is not yet realized, but I have to confess that I didn't pass a single car on this highway coming or going. It’s somewhat of a joke to a few area residents, and a sore spot to several others. It chopped a few surface streets in half and blazed through some of the most beautiful property in Georgia. One of the affected areas was a property I hunted for many years.

Construction on this leg of the new road lasted for several years. I must confess that while the work was going on the hunting, if not improved, was a little more enjoyable. The big machines opened up areas where you could see farther than you could shoot and I often watched animals of all kinds cross the newly graded roadbed. But each morning as I sat perched in a tree high above the ground watching the sunrise, I knew that my days here were numbered. Did I think the new highway was a good idea? I guess after my years of traveling the ‘pig paths’ to Columbus I would be a hypocrite to say no, but why did it have to blaze through my favorite hunting spot? The answer is simple…it’s not far, but there is really no good way to get there!

Almost!

When I was a little boy my brothers and I watched every minute of Sunday NFL football that our single channel would allow. If we were lucky, or someone climbed on the roof and turned the antenna, this meant two games; if we were not, we either had to go outside and play football ourselves or watch a well-worn version of Bye Bye Birdie; a channel 13 favorite! Yes, I was raised in the caveman years of television.

Winter Sunday afternoons consisted of three little boys wearing any clothing item football related, draped over the furniture trying to find a way to stay focused for the four hours it took to decide the outcome of a football game. Often we would get up right in the middle of the action and go outside a throw the ball around. Of course we were practicing our ball handling skills, but the most important skill was learning to make a football move without the appearance of really trying! What you did was not as important as what you looked like while you were doing it! “It’s better to look good than to feel good and darling you look marvelous”…well, kind of, I know what Billy Crystal was trying to say!

Of course I have never been able to shake this idea of being cool completely, I am a male. But as I get older one of the things I've realized is that these professional athletes were trying to appear flippant partly to cover just how much pain that last amazing play, and really the entire season before it, inflicted! I now understand what my father meant when (after an awesome tackle) his first word was “Ouch” instead of “Yay”! Turns out missing work and missing school are two entirely different missings!

But of course there were valuable lessons hidden in this “be cool” training we practiced every day. I learned to approach every situation as though I belonged in it; I learned confidence. I learned that playing through the pain could mean working at a job I dislike while I waited for the one I really wanted to open up. I learned to not sound the alarm when a friend wanted help with a problem that terrified me.

But in spite of my fifty years of practice, this morning I almost slipped. As I attempted to place the massive 20 lb. bag of dog food on the self-check counter at Walmart, my lower back decided I should not. The look on my face as I frantically searched for a shopping buggy to carry the load to my car was obvious to the older cashier standing a few feet away and she politely asked me if I needed some help! “No thanks” I managed, “I just thought for a second I had lost my wallet!” Almost!

Naming the beast

I remember giving my car a cleaning that day that was even more thorough than the almost hourly one I gave it most every other day. It was my seventeenth birthday and I was taking my girlfriend out to eat at a nice restaurant thirty miles up the road in Macon. While it is hard to imagine my fifteen year old daughter navigating the distance and traffic of a town larger than the little one we call home, it was no big deal for me; I had been banging my father’s old Dodge truck through the woods for many years at this point and I was a confident pilot.

The evening began normally as we launched our late afternoon trip to the big city. My girlfriend and I had been dating for at least a year, so the conversation was light and relaxed; we were both looking forward to a big dinner and a romantic evening. I admit that I considered every evening with her special, but I had plans for an extra special one. It was my birthday!

A few miles short of the halfway point I noticed a small car up ahead that seemed to be both in our lane and headed directly toward us. The car was at least a half a mile in front of us, and while I expected them to correct the problem before we collided, I sat up a little straighter and prepared for disaster. Everything happened very quickly at this point, and while I did manage to avoid the disaster, the driver of the small car did not. At the last second I veered into the left lane as it struck a large culvert on my side of the road!

I had come to almost a complete stop at this point, so a quick shift into reverse and I was staring through the passenger window at a crumpled Volkswagen that I felt sure contained a deceased driver; nobody could have survived that impact! I feel sure no more than a few seconds elapsed before the driver climbed out of the shattered window, but it seemed like several hours and multiple indecisions. What should I do?

What happened next has haunted me off and on for most of my life. When the screaming blood-soaked driver flopped on the trunk of my car I just sat there; I froze. Another driver had stopped to help at this point, and when he grabbed the hysterical woman, I pulled my car up a few feet and out of the road. I did manage to roll my window down and tell the Good Samaritan that I would drive to a store down the road and call an ambulance, but what I really wanted was to get away.

If it makes any difference, the driver of the wrecked car was fine. I know this because I drove to the local police station the next day and inquired. A small cut on her forehead had drenched her face and shirt with blood, but she was otherwise unharmed. I was relieved for her, but I admit that this did little to settle the uneasiness I felt for having failed her when she needed me most. I remember my girlfriend being gracious in her attempts at consolation, but this did little for me and it was really the beginning of the end of our relationship...and the confidence of a seventeen year old.

I could have gone the rest of my life without telling this story from so long ago; it is certainly not something I’m proud of and few have heard it. But this morning as my daughter and I walked the dog I decided to begin with her. No one likes to give tragedies a name; if you speak of them you invite them. If you slip you must knock wood.

But I want us both to be prepared. It breaks my heart to tell my baby what I think she should do when (God forbid) the shooting starts, but what if I never mentioned it? Do I believe that any amount of preparation will change the outcome of how one reacts when it really matters? I don’t know and I hope I never have to find out again. But as of today at least it has a name.

Damaged?

I’m sure somewhere out there in this vast country I call home there is a man that actually looks forward to the ending of daylight saving time; maybe one day I will meet him. I probably wouldn't have much in common with this mystery man because I hate it! The days are naturally getting shorter anyway… aren't we going about this backward? I feel like it gets dark right after lunch and I’m ready for bed at 7:30!

Today I decided to try and fool Mother Nature and actually do something outside after work. I had stopped by Lowes earlier in the day to purchase a few bags of cow manure (you can now purchase land one bag at a time) for my winter garden, but I would have to hurry if I wanted to get it spread before dark. I know this is not much of a job, but with so little time and a dog that had been penned up all day vying for my attention, I knew it was going to be close.

I dropped the truck’s tailgate and as I pulled the wagon closer I noticed one of the tires was flat. Now I would have to either lug the bags to my garden or take the time to find my little compressor and inflate the tire! Things were certainly not going as planned and they were compounded by a fifty pound dog-child that wanted to be absolutely sure that her evening walk was not forgotten. I swear this dog will attempt to sniff the hammer in full swing, but that is a story for another day. The easy answer was to simply lug the individual bags to the garden!

After dropping off the first bag I headed back to the truck for the others. It is not uncommon for my energetic dog to streak past me when I work outside (or inside for that matter), but I noticed that it was not me that held her interest. With ears pinned flat against her head, I watched as she rocketed toward the street! It was at this point I noticed that her focus was a young woman; walking stick in hand…ears sealed with head phones…new to the neighborhood…walking past my driveway! I knew my screams would go unheard; the walker was listening to music and everybody knows that a dog’s ears close off when they run at sixty miles an hour;  I screamed anyway.

Naturally neither heard me and in the blink of an eye, Sunshine (my streak of white lightning) had reached the walker. She screamed as the dog cut in front of her and placed both front feet on her chest! Luckily the walker’s first reaction was to remove the ear phones (not swing the stick) and unplugged she could now hear my pleas. I can only imagine how fast her heart was beating as she looked at the retreating dog and struggled to say “that is one friendly dog!” Welcome to the neighborhood.

I have to say that I consider myself lucky; the lady was nice about everything and nobody was injured. Sunshine, on the other hand, received a piece of my mind that I could tell she didn't fully understand. Of course some of the browbeating I gave her was for the walker to hear, but once she was out of earshot I started to feel a little guilty. I know this is unacceptable behavior and someone could have been hurt, but how does one explain this to a dog whose only intention was to spread some love?

This dog spent most of her two years in what really amounts to an orphanage. I don’t want to give the impression that I think the care and attention given her at ARF was anything less than stellar, but it will never be the same as a real home. I have to know that as she watched other dogs come and go hope was hard to hold on to. While she had many friends, she never had a family of her own. But as damaged as she may be, her natural reaction to a stranger was one of love and happiness, not fear and mistrust. Innocent until proven guilty; thank you Sunshine!

We love you too

I remember standing in my grandparent’s driveway in Stone Mountain saying our goodbyes as we prepared to make the two hour trip back home to Milledgeville. They were both in their early seventies and I was a fairly young married man. My grandparents were easy folks to hang around with and luckily my wife enjoyed them as much as I did, but the hundred mile journey made our visits infrequent. After releasing my grandfather from a decent man hug, I held his hand and told him that I loved him. At this point his eyes searched his shoelaces as he managed an almost inaudible mumble of, “well, we love you too”.

They have both been gone now for many years, but I think of this moment often. Of course I have wished that I had spent more time with them, and I do wish that I had told them more often that I loved them. But that is really not what I think of when I recall this moment and I feel content in the notion that they both knew exactly how much I loved them. Miss them? I do…kick myself? I do not. We had some great times and I consider myself lucky to share a gene pool with such great people.

What I think of when I think of this day is my grandfather’s reaction to my declaration of love. He, of course, was from a generation where a man making such a statement to another man was akin to saying he wanted some 3” leopard skin heels for Christmas! Yes you loved those around you, but while it was okay to show it, saying it was an open invitation to take over the household ironing duties. A man’s emotions, so as not to be misunderstood, were something best kept to himself. The fact that he could not face me at this point told me everything I needed to know; he loved me too.

Luckily we have become much more of an open group these days. “I love yous” are slung around freely by men and women alike, and while honestly they may be somewhat devalued by this, it beats the alternative! There is no longer any excuse for those around you not to know exactly how you feel. I know this is true, but I don't understand why the older I get the more familiar I become with the intricate pattern of my shoelaces?

White knuckle weekend

Daredevil is one of those terms, like mean or cheap, that really doesn't mean much when it is used to describe someone. Of course it is a relative term as well; what I consider life threatening may just be another day at the office for some. And for those who think that reckless abandon is a trait they will possess all of their lives, let me clear that up now, advanced age will take a generous portion of that away! Man that hurt, and man I’m going to miss a week of work mean two completely different things!

Growing up as the middle son of three boys certainly had its challenges and I wonder if this is what brought out the risk taker in me. Looking back I realize that I usually felt like I HAD to outperform the younger brother (this just seemed like simple physics) and the older one was there to set a higher bar to reach for. Sounds like an exhausting childhood (though primarily self-imposed) even to me! But I explain this only as an attempt to justify some of the crazy and dangerous things I've done in the past.

Perhaps trying to ride an unbroken horse is one of the stupidest things I’ve attempted, but sometimes I wonder if surviving this with only a concussion and a Baltimore Colts team logo stamped on my chest did more harm than good. Nothing speeds up the learning curve like a permanent limp. And diving in the water from a 100’ cliff? I guess this answers the old question of “would you jump off a bridge just because someone else did?” We know now that the answer is often yes.

I’m not sure why these two episodes from 30 years ago stand out so clearly to me now because, trust me, there were countless others. Running from a cab driver in a city 500 miles from home that would probably have killed me for the $62 flashing on his meter was not very smart, but hiding under a train car for over an hour so that he wouldn't find me is probably even dumber! But there was no permanent damage from this event and I know now that the only reason I did this was for the thrill…and because the guy sitting beside me yelled “Run” when the cab stopped. There’s that bridge again.

But the older I get the less I enjoy the palpitations these actions invoke; actually I think they call it high blood pressure at my current age and it’s probably more dangerous than before! Nothing speeds up the learning curve like dropping dead after a prank! Let’s just say that today I go out of my way to avoid these scenarios. But try as I may, sometimes they sneak up on me and rope me in before I realize what happened. Last weekend was a good example. Me, my wife, daughter and oblivious dog loaded up for a 10 mile trip to my parents’ house. We were almost out of the driveway when my 15 year old daughter asked “Isn’t this one of those times when I should be driving?” Did my dog just yell run? If you've never seen a man clutching a white knuckled dog you don’t know what you’re missing!