Monday, March 19, 2018
Thursday, March 15, 2018
Airport Beer Fight
It has been a while since my dad died and thinking about him has gotten easier. It was always hard between him and I. We were both just alike, stubborn and hard headed. Most of my childhood was spent at my grandparents and I guess they were glad to have me. I know that I enjoyed growing up on the farm with the woods and creek to entertain me. It was there that I gained respect for the animals that had to work and provide food for us. With my grandmother completely deaf and a grandfather that suffered from logeria I was always caught in the middle. I longed to spend time with my brothers and sometimes I did get to.
My older brother was mean as a snake and I had to be tough to hang around him. While he was blackening my eye and busting my lip, I would cry from the pain and fight back with whatever I could. One day he called me a bookworm and I knew a butt whupping was coming. To keep from getting my ass kicked I threw the hammer I was holding in my hand. When he raised his hand to protect his head, the hammer broke his forearm. He did not bother me too much after then, Now that we are old men I outweigh him by sixty pounds.
My middle brother was the favorite and everyone knew it. I think it was even worse than Joseph and the coat of many colors. Now at sixty three, he is still living off mom, even though he makes over a hundred thousand a year. Some things never change.
I know that my parents loved me, but I don't think that they liked me. I was always getting into shit and worrying them. Getting into fights at school and throwing rocks out the school bus window, breaking windshields. Now fifty years later, I can finally sit down square on my butt. As I got older I took up drinking and the fights really began.
About that time dad and I began to spend a little more time together. Wayne was in the air force and Benny had just gotten married. I guess he was lonely or just feeling a little guilty. We would go to the river and drink beer with our buddies. Just before I moved off to Mobile to go college, we were off on an adventure. Dad, uncle Seaborn, Junior Key and myself were drinking beer. We happened to be on the strip just outside Dale county. Dale county was dry and if you wanted a drink you had to go to another county. Joining Dale county was Houston county and a line of five or six beer joints. Nothing special, just dirty block buildings filled with rednecks, myself included. If you wanted a fight, just raise your hand and someone would take a swing at you. Dad was a pit bull in a cha wa wa body. No one messed with him unless they were ready for a tumble, 'cause he never backed down from anyone. He always carried a pocket knife with him wherever he went. I think he sometimes showered with it. I could never master the art of sharpening like he did. It was always sharp enough to separate the front of a piece of paper from the back.
As we drove into the Airport Lounge parking lot, dad said to me, "Don't start a fight in here , if you do, you are on your own." I promised I would not. When we got inside, Uncle Seaborn and I grabbed an empty pool table and shot some nine ball. Dad went over to a domino game and sat down with Kenny Brimelow, a friend of my older brother. Kenny was a big strapping young man with a head that was too small for his body. He was a foot taller than anyone in the room and he thought the world of my dad. Dad wound up keeping score for the game. One of the playerss was losing and accused dad of cheating. Before dad could pull out his knife, Brimelow grabbed the man by the neck and lifted him off the floor. Kenny quietly told the guy, "If you do not apologize to Mr. Paul, I will hurt you." The guy realized the foolishness of his ways and apologized. I laughed at dad for chastising me about fighting and then he was involved in one. Wherever we went after then I would tell him, "Now don't start a fight in here or you are on your own.", and laugh. His face would always turn red and then he would laugh also.
My older brother was mean as a snake and I had to be tough to hang around him. While he was blackening my eye and busting my lip, I would cry from the pain and fight back with whatever I could. One day he called me a bookworm and I knew a butt whupping was coming. To keep from getting my ass kicked I threw the hammer I was holding in my hand. When he raised his hand to protect his head, the hammer broke his forearm. He did not bother me too much after then, Now that we are old men I outweigh him by sixty pounds.
My middle brother was the favorite and everyone knew it. I think it was even worse than Joseph and the coat of many colors. Now at sixty three, he is still living off mom, even though he makes over a hundred thousand a year. Some things never change.
I know that my parents loved me, but I don't think that they liked me. I was always getting into shit and worrying them. Getting into fights at school and throwing rocks out the school bus window, breaking windshields. Now fifty years later, I can finally sit down square on my butt. As I got older I took up drinking and the fights really began.
About that time dad and I began to spend a little more time together. Wayne was in the air force and Benny had just gotten married. I guess he was lonely or just feeling a little guilty. We would go to the river and drink beer with our buddies. Just before I moved off to Mobile to go college, we were off on an adventure. Dad, uncle Seaborn, Junior Key and myself were drinking beer. We happened to be on the strip just outside Dale county. Dale county was dry and if you wanted a drink you had to go to another county. Joining Dale county was Houston county and a line of five or six beer joints. Nothing special, just dirty block buildings filled with rednecks, myself included. If you wanted a fight, just raise your hand and someone would take a swing at you. Dad was a pit bull in a cha wa wa body. No one messed with him unless they were ready for a tumble, 'cause he never backed down from anyone. He always carried a pocket knife with him wherever he went. I think he sometimes showered with it. I could never master the art of sharpening like he did. It was always sharp enough to separate the front of a piece of paper from the back.
As we drove into the Airport Lounge parking lot, dad said to me, "Don't start a fight in here , if you do, you are on your own." I promised I would not. When we got inside, Uncle Seaborn and I grabbed an empty pool table and shot some nine ball. Dad went over to a domino game and sat down with Kenny Brimelow, a friend of my older brother. Kenny was a big strapping young man with a head that was too small for his body. He was a foot taller than anyone in the room and he thought the world of my dad. Dad wound up keeping score for the game. One of the playerss was losing and accused dad of cheating. Before dad could pull out his knife, Brimelow grabbed the man by the neck and lifted him off the floor. Kenny quietly told the guy, "If you do not apologize to Mr. Paul, I will hurt you." The guy realized the foolishness of his ways and apologized. I laughed at dad for chastising me about fighting and then he was involved in one. Wherever we went after then I would tell him, "Now don't start a fight in here or you are on your own.", and laugh. His face would always turn red and then he would laugh also.
Monday, March 12, 2018
Thursday, March 8, 2018
Monday, March 5, 2018
Friday, March 2, 2018
Drunk Litterbugs
I am trying to learn to knap glass arrowheads, so you drunk litterbugs continue to throw your beer bottles in the yard. I can use the practice. Notice the #14 on the one on the bottom
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