My Old Man

My Old Man:

I first heard this song by Zac Brown last week when Home Free covered it and released their video. I really don’t listen to the radio all that much anymore, or much music for that matter. When I was younger, music was everything, I was always playing it.

Anyway, that’s not what I want to talk about in this post.

I don’t know if I’m the only dad that ever feels this way or not, but sometimes I feel like I fall way short on being a good dad. I don’t feel like I did enough for my oldest and I don’t feel like I’m doing enough for my youngest.  I don’t mean materialistically either. I’ve never been the kind of parent to base parental love on material things. No, I mean in much more meaningful ways.

Sometimes I feel as if I holler(ed) at them way too much, or I don’t/didn’t give them enough of my attention. Was/is the advice I provide(ed) good enough to help them through life and to make good decisions? Am/was I a good role model for them?

I listen to that song and wonder, was/am I that dad? Do my boys think of me that way? Or do they have more bad memories than good when they think of me?

Where our house is small and my youngest has to sleep with me still, sometimes I will lay and watch him sleep and wonder what he’s dreaming about, especially if we’ve had an especially rough day or evening. I will watch his eyes dart back and forth in dreams and wish I could peek inside to see if he was having good dreams or was dreaming about an argument we had or of me telling him no for the hundredth time.

When I don’t hear from my oldest for a long time, I wonder if he thinks about me, or if he talks to his little boy, my grandson about me. Does he tell him about his younger years growing up with me or do I cross his mind much at all?

Ya see, for the better part of my oldest sons younger years,  I was a single parent and I’ve been a single parent for my youngest son since he was two and sometimes I can’t help but have these thoughts and wonders.

All I can do is hope that I did/am doing my best. I know for sure that I’m proud of my boys, I just hope that my boys are proud me too.


Her Name Was Penny

Today, as I was driving back from town, a drive I make very often as it is the only way to actually GET to town, or just about any where else from where I live, a memory bubbled to the surface of my crowded mind when I passed a certain dirt road leading into a small holler.

As I said, I pass this road every time I go to town, twice actually, going and returning, and I don’t know why this memory decided to make itself known today, but it got me to thinkin’.

Back in my high school days, like most boys my age, I was girl crazy, and like most boys, blondes got my attention first, in most cases. There were exceptions to this rule in my case, which concerned other body parts, but we won’t go into those for this post.

I had a best friend who also turned out to be my biggest rival for the attention of the female of our species, usually. Most of the time, it turned out that if one of us liked a girl, chances were good that the other one did too, even if we were totally unaware of it until it was too late.

Such was the case for a little blonde beauty that lived not too far from me, up that dirt road, into that little holler I told you about earlier.

Her name was Penny, and she had the most gorgeous, naturally wavy, long blonde hair I had ever seen … among , other, things of course.

Her face was beautiful,  and to me, at the time, she had the features of an angel and I was completely in love. It’s just too bad she didn’t know it. I doubt it would have done any good anyhow, but never-the-less, there she was, the object of my dreams, and just like a dream, always just out of reach.

Sometimes I would get lucky enough to sit beside her on the bus ride home, we’d talk and laugh and such, but that’s as far as I was ever brave enough to take it. I would always feel sad when her stop came up and it was time for her to get off the bus.

I soon came to find out that my best friend also liked Penny, which, as usual, made me mad, but I didn’t say or do anything because I knew Penny would never want to “go with me”, that’s what we called dating back then.

I always took consolation she never “went with” him neither and I felt vindicated in knowing neither one of us was good enough for her.

I wonder where she is today? I wonder where a lot of the people I grew up with are now? Some still live close by, but the biggest majority of my childhood friends and schoolmates have long since moved on, some have passed on, others just moved to different states.

When I stop and think about the number of people I started out with in my “circle of life” and the ones that aren’t here anymore, well, it’s a sobering thought to say the least. It also takes me back to my first ever real kiss, sittin’ on a branch in a cherry tree.

The cherry tree is long since cut down, the girl that gave me that first kiss married with grand kids now and many many miles, memories, hardships, failures, happiness and victories under these feet on mine.

These mountains that surround me as I sit and type this post have seen much of my life, recorded it in their memories. If only they could talk, oh the stories they could tell.

They couldn’t tell you about a pretty blonde girl though, because she was just a fleeting part of my many dreams, and her name was Penny.


Uneasy Optimism For January 20, 2017

Uneasy Optimism For January 20, 2017


Will The Inauguration For President Elect Donald J. Trump Be Catastrophe Free? I have to admit, as I sit here in my humble little home, safe and secure, anticipating the pending inauguration in just 6 days, I have a feeling of unease. With everything that has been brought to the forefront of Americas attention in the last few days, like, senate members planning to boycott the inauguration,…

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Take A Knee – I Don’t Think So!

Take A Knee – I Don’t Think So!


Referees of the Virginia Union vs Virginia State game take a knee during the national anthem.   This goes along with my last post on Facebook on burning our flag. Our First Amendment is being abused all over this country. People like this and the spoiled originator Colin Kaepernick, are using it to disrespect treasured artifacts and traditions. When a person takes a knee during the Pledge of…

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The ’53 International

The ’53 International:

This isn't papaw's truck but looks just like it.

This isn’t papaw’s truck but looks just like it.

Back in the day, when my imagination was geared more toward the innocence of a child and the wonderment of all things new, one of my most favorite past times was driving for miles and miles in my grandpa’s 1953 International Pickup.

I’m quite sure I traveled through every state in that old truck, down old back country roads, with my arm hangin’ out the window, wavin’ at everybody I saw, and they was friendly enough to wave right back at me.

As I got a little older and learned of such things, I ran shine in it, burnin’ up these back mountain roads with the law on my tail. I never got caught though, nobody could catch the “Black Bandit.”

It was about this time The Dukes of Hazzard was popular, and of course, I never missed an episode. Needless to say, there were many miles running from Roscoe and Enos, jumping over everything, racing anybody that was willin’ to get a good butt whoopin’. Of course we knew a black International pickup truck looked nothin’ like the General Lee, but that didn’t stop us.

I wish I could count the times I would just go sit in papaw’s truck, for no other reason than to just sit there. I haven’t mentioned this yet, but that old pickup truck hadn’t moved in 15 years or better, all 4 tires were flat and the engine was busted on it, but to me, it was in fine shape.

I wanted that truck so bad when I got older. I begged my uncle to let me have it so I could drop an engine in it and fix it up. I was a teenager when he sold it. I was in school and when I came home, it was gone. Just like that, as if it had never been there.

I stood in the empty spot that for so many years of my life had been occupied by, not only my papaw’s old truck, but my refuge from many a storm, both real and emotional. I stood in that lonely spot, and I cried.