There's still time....

It's been months since I've written anything, and even now, I'm struggling to find that "creative" thought which will launch a witty, yet meaningful story to share.

Perhaps, somewhere deep in the crevices of my mind there's a spark, but for now it seems to be eluding me. I suppose it's just the end of the year doldrums, as I look back and see how little I accomplished in 2012, and how much lies ahead in 2013.

I suppose, however, some of my malaise could be due to the fact that it's the Sunday before Christmas and I've yet to finish my Christmas shopping. Oh, don't be alarmed, for it's the norm for me.

As Miss Elizabeth says, "You always wait until the last minute just in case something happens to me and you'll get off the hook altogether." She has such a way with words!

I, on the other hand, attribute my tardiness to the "thoughtful" approach I use to weigh the importance of each and every gift. A man can't just rush out and buy whatever happens to be on the shelf, can he? It takes weeks, and sometimes months, to find the gift that will have the desired effect.

And that, my friends, is why I'm still pondering......

After all, it's only Sunday, and Christmas is still two days away.....plenty of time for someone who has already put so much thought into the process.....

I'm quite sure that I'll find the perfect gift.  I'll know it when I see it......

But, as all of you know by now.....What do I really know anyway?

Getting older by the minute....

Yesterday was my 61st birthday......and that's about all I have to say about that!

I met some of my old high school buddies for breakfast, and as always, it was filled with laughter, tall tales, old memories, and some concerns for friends who are dealing with health issues that we all know could beset any of us now that we are at "that age".

One of my very best friends is dealing with some of those problems.....very serious, although he tends to make light of it when we're together. Yesterday, he mentioned that the risk of additional surgery is greater than living with the problem. Sometimes life gives us bitter pills.

What do I do?

How do I act?

We've known each other too long to just ignore it, and I've nagged him for years about giving up some of the vices that have exacerbated these health issues. But, he's the kind of guy who has always lived life to the fullest, and who probably won't change now.

Still rides his Harley.....with no helmet!

Still smokes.....but not as much!

Still enjoys the good food.....can't comment on this one!

You do what you can, say what you may, but in the end it's the decision of each of us to make the necessary changes. Not so much for ourselves, but for those who care about us.

Yesterday was my 61st birthday...... I hope to celebrate the next one with a breakfast with my friends.

All of them.

I've only got two hands.....

A few weeks ago we took delivery of a pre-packaged kit to build a combination playhouse and garden shed. You know, one of those wonderfully marketed, beautifully illustrated, cute as a button little cottages that two men can assemble in twenty hours........fat chance.

My two boys were coming home for a visit and it was my plan to have everything ready so we could tackle the ordeal of uncrating and assembling the kit......I even took a few minutes to read the instructions, all forty-six pages! On page three there was a list of the tools that would be needed to tackle the job, hammer, pry bar, level, skilsaw, tin snips, reciprocating saw.....reciprocating saw? I don't own a reciprocating saw, and I'm not really sure I know what one is. Not a problem...I have a computer, I have the Internet, I can have one in a manner of days.

Sure enough, I found what I was looking for and placed the order for a brand new Milwaukee SawZall, which according to the website, was exactly what I was looking for to do the job. My order qualified for expedited shipping and I would have it in a couple of days. Great, it would be here by the following weekend and I could continue the project. We have a great UPS delivery man, and when I pulled into the driveway Thursday afternoon, a large box awaited me......too large.....much too large for a new saw.

The packing slip indicated that this brand new, state of the art ShopVac, should have been received by someone in Indiana......not some old cowboy in Kansas.

So, I went back to the internet, found the phone number and called customer service. "Oops, our mistake." the man said. "Ship it back and we'll ship your saw when we receive the ShopVac." I didn't care much for the fact that he didn't trust me enough to ship my saw until he received the return, and I said so. He then assured me that he would see what he could do about sending it earlier. So I sent the ShopVac and waited for my saw.....and waited.....and waited. No saw appeared at my back door, and no communication from the shipper. Being the impatient man that I am, I called and asked for my account to be credited, which they promptly did. Back to square one.

At that point I decided to take a drive to a nearby town to make the purchase. I found what I was looking for, and drove home. What's that? A small box setting outside the back door.....SawZall.

Okay, so now I have two saws, and I've only paid for one. The next day was a busy day, and I didn't have time to call the merchant to see how we would handle the error. I was on my way home when my cell phone rang.....

It was Miss Elizabeth, who said, "Guess what?" I hate it when people say that. It could be anything, and I'm not a very good guesser. But, I played along and said, "I don't know, what?"

"UPS just delivered another SawZall."

Good grief! Now, I've got three new SawZalls and only two hands......What's a guy to do?

Well, as we all know by now - don't look to me for answers, 'cause what do I know?

Dust in the wind.....

It's been awhile since I've had the inclination to write anything. The summer has been, and continues to be brutal. And, as the drought continues across the country those of us in Kansas are truly suffering.

This morning, however, I awoke to overcast skies and a few drops of rain. Not enough to even settle the dust, but a pleasant break from the stifling heat to which we've become accustomed. Day after day of 100+ temperatures, and not much relief once the sun sets in the evening. Last night it was still 100 degrees at 11:00pm.

The grasses in my pastures are brown and crisp to the touch, and in the areas where the cows have grazed heavily the ground is barren and dust swirls in the hot wind. I'm hesitant to drive across the pasture for fear of starting a fire that would rage out of control with the heat, wind, and lack of humidity. All in all, it's a dire situation for both man and beast.

I have sixteen cows and sixteen calves trying to scrounge for food, water, and shade. Most days I'll find them lined up along the pond dam, standing in water that barely covers their knees, but undoubtedly adds to their comfort. At the start of the summer the cows would have been neck deep, but that pond has all but gone dry. Fortunately, I have two others, but without some significant rainfall they will be in the same sad shape.

The drought has driven up feed prices, and has driven down the price of cattle as more and more producers are having to downsize, or liquidate, their herds. I'll sell calves next month that will bring significantly fewer dollars than they would have earlier this year.....hopefully, I won't have to sell the cows as well.

I'm typically an optimist, but it's becoming more and more difficult to see the silver lining. I'm sure it's still out there, somewhere in the distance.....somewhere....in the distance.....but what the heck do I know anyway!

Are we having fun yet?

"Are you floating or walking?" That had become the question of the day on our recent float trip. We were bone tired, hungry, thirsty, and were just a little cynical of our leader's decision making abilities.

Oh, I forgot.....There's no leader in sight!

The first day of a floating/fishing trip is always filled with optimism. We were up at 5:00am, had our fishing equipment and boats loaded in the truck and on the road to Arkansas by 6:30am. It's about a 5-6 hour trip by the time you allow for pit stops, lunch, and a short shopping stint at Bass Pro in Springfield (another story for another time).

In past years we've met up with our group at the cabin, then proceeded to the river for a short float on the first day. Of course last year the river was at flood stage and all of our floats were "short, fast & furious".

This year would be different!

We had noticed how dry everything looked during the drive over, and it was evident that there had been very little rain for a few weeks. So when we arrived at the river we weren't surprised to see the water much lower than the year before. It may have been lower, but it was crystal clear and very inviting.

It was 3:00pm and time to launch. We'd be finished with this eight mile float before dark; plenty of time for some refreshments and a nice dinner.....

Within a couple hundred yards we hit our first snag, literally. There wasn't enough water in the shallow spots to keep our pontoon boats afloat. Not a problem, we just stood up and dragged the little boats through the shallows and into the next pool.....and again, and again, and again....float and walk, float and walk, slip and fall, bang your knee on a rock, bruise your shin on the boat....all the way down the river!

"Hey, how much farther 'til we reach our destination?" No answer from our leader.

There was a stiff wind in our face, and all of us were struggling to make headway against it. We were getting no assistance from the current since there wasn't enough water to create a downstream flow. Someone wisecracked, "Maybe if we turn our boats around and row backwards it'll be easier....you know, the wind will be at our back instead of in our face!" I won't divulge the identity of the person who uttered that little gem.

Anyway, I think you get the "drift".  After lots of walking, lots of rowing, and lots of sarcasm, we found ourselves gazing at the stars, which were beautiful by the way, and about two-thirds of the eight mile float was behind us. The stars were bright, but the moon was nowhere to be seen. It was dark, but at least we weren't lost.....we were still on the river.....

"Are you walking or floating?  "I can't see you."

"I can't see anything".

"Are we there yet?"

"If we go under the bridge, we've gone too far."

No one had a flashlight. No one had drinking water. No one had thought to bring a sandwich. Did I mention that it was also dark!

It was approaching 11:00pm when we heard a car and glimpsed it's headlights piercing the darkness across the bridge. We knew we were nearing the end of the journey.....

"Hey Wayne, why don't you hit the alarm button on your key so we can see where your truck is parked?"

"Yeah, that's a great idea."

"What do you mean, the keys are in the truck???"

It was fun and we'll probably do it again......but as always, what do I know?

No one knows it all....

I live on a small ranch/farm and know all too well the difficulties of making sure that everything that needs to get done...gets done! It's a constant battle to ensure that fences are in good repair, cattle are checked daily, pastures are sprayed, and on and on and on....

So what's the big deal, you say. You made the decision to live that lifestyle and the hard work that goes with it. And, of course, you would be correct. It's a lifestyle that's like no other, except for that of an owner of a small business. Now, that's hard work!

Oh, but wait; Owning a small ranch or farm is the same as owning a small business.....they are one in the same.

A few weeks ago I was invited to speak at a gathering that was identified as a Farmers and Businessmen Banquet.  My opening line was something to the effect that "How do you differentiate between the two?"  It was met with a resounding "thumbs-up".

Both vocations, small business ownership and farming, require  a commitment to long days, multiple disciplines, and a willingness to seek help when you need it. In my case, help is something I seek on a regular basis. I know when I'm in over my head, and know enough to find someone who can give me the guidance I need. There's nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it, and believe me it's far better than beating your head against the wall when you don't know the answer yourself.

My day job is that of a business coach, and I'm constantly coaching business owners on the "how-to" of starting and operating a business. How's the best way to market your product? Is it better to lease or purchase a piece of equipment? Is it better to be an LLC or Sole Proprietorship? Then, they ask "How am I supposed to know all of this stuff?"

My answer is, you shouldn't even consider trying to know how to do it all. That's a sure-fired way to run your business into the ground. Concentrate on the things you do best, and get help with the things you either don't know how, or don't like to do. Otherwise, those things will probably get done poorly, or not get done at all.

The moral of the story is; No one is an expert at everything, and there is nothing to apologize for when you need to ask for help......In fact, it's probably the smartest decision you'll make.

I politely declined the request....twice!

All my life I've had very little interest in all things political, and no desire whatsoever to throw my hat into the ring.  Still don't......

"Jack we think you'd be a great County Commissioner! Why don't you run for the seat that's up in your district?"

 It wasn't so much a question as it was a plea from an acquaintance who had just experienced an exasperating hour pleading his case in front of the three men who govern the affairs of our County.

That was eight years ago, and I was fairly new to the County.

I politely declined his request.

Four years later, and more than one person approached me with the same suggestion.....run for office!

Again, it's not that I'm not a concerned citizen, but it just didn't feel right. I was busy with a couple of different business ventures and trying to learn the cattle raising thing at the ranch. I didn't need the distraction of public office.

Once again, I declined.

Here it is four years later, I've sold one of the businesses, and the cattle business is less intimidating to me than it was a few years ago. Earlier this year I was told that the incumbent was planning to retire and it was time for me to get off my duff and run for the seat that was evidently going to be vacant.

I said that I'd think about it....

Now, I've picked up the filing papers and have commenced gathering signatures for a "filing by petition" which I've been told is the best way to approach a political campaign. I have until June 1st to either turn in the papers or bow out gracefully. I suppose I'll turn them in to the Court House, and announce my official candidacy for County Commissioner....

What am I thinking.....

I suppose it still comes around to that old "What do I know?"

I swear it wasn't me.....

When I was kid my folks bought a little two bedroom house and moved the family to town. We had always lived in rented houses "out in the country" so everyone seemed to be excited about the move. Now, I can't imagine wanting to leave the country life for the city.

But, I was only four when we moved into the house, and soon learned to tune out the sights and sounds that were far different than the ones to which I was accustomed; the whistle of the train that was hauling crude oil to the refinery, the stink of the refinery itself, and of course the constant rumble of the trash trucks heading past our house to the city dump.

Location, location, location.....I'm not sure my parents were made aware of that rule of thumb when buying their first piece of real estate. But, as a youngster, I learned to appreciate some of the opportunities it provided.

If a person was not averse to risk, he might hitch a ride on the back of one of the slow-moving trains and cut the walk down to the river trestle by half. Then, upon arrival at the bridge, one might learn how to swing down from the outside edge over the river, and drop to the concrete pillars that supported the trestle. Not many people were aware of the 2x12 timbers that formed a little crawl space under the bridge, but for those who were either brave or foolish enough to crawl out to the middle of the river, it was a great place to hang out.

I'm not aware of anyone who had the nerve to jump into the river as it flowed over the rocks below, but it was not because it wasn't discussed at length. For the most part, it was just a good place to escape from everything for awhile, shoot .22s at snakes, turtles, fish, and anything else that happened to float by. Occasionally, you might be "fortunate" enough to experience the tremendous vibration, heat, and noise of the train as it lumbered across the trestle directly over your head.

I recall these things only because they are the stories that were related to me by those rowdy kids of my neighborhood.......I swear it wasn't me who did it.....But, then again, my memory fails me at times, and it's quite often that I simply have to say, "what do I know".

A spectacular start to a spectacular day!

It's nearing the end of February and I cannot believe how mild this winter has been. Seriously, we've only had one measurable snow, and it barely covered the ground. The ponds have remained unfrozen for the livestock, and for me too, as I've been spared the chore of chopping holes in the ice. Yes, I know it's much too early to gloat.....after all, we've had some significant snowstorms in March, but the nice thing about those spring storms is that they are short lived.

About a week ago we had our first calf of the spring, the first of seventeen. He was born on Valentine's Day and was aptly named Valentino. Since then we've had three more here at the ranch, and four others that were delivered "down the road" where a friend of mine monitors the deliveries of my first-calf heifers.

It's my favorite part of ranching....and even though it can sometimes be trying, there's nothing quite like walking up to a newly born calf and watching it struggle to its feet as it tries to figure out the intricacies of "life on the outside".  It's a rude awakening I'm sure, but made much more tolerable when the weather is mild.

Yesterday I was up early. The sky was clear and the sun was inching its way over the hills to the east of the house. There had been a light frost overnight, and the sun was creating thousands of diamonds across the pasture as the sunlight reflected off the grass. It was going to be a spectacular day!

As usual I started the coffee, then stepped to the windows to enjoy the view. The cows were meandering across the pasture, headed to the feed troughs where I would soon reward them for their cooperation. As I stood in the living room I caught a glimpse of smoke. No, it wasn't smoke, it was steam rising out of the tall grass on the side of the hill about 200 yards from the house. Time to go check it out.

I would usually jump in the Ranger, but it wasn't far so I walked. The sun was warm and we were headed to another day pushing sixty degrees.....in February!

I hadn't walked a hundred yards when the mama cow stood up from where the steam was still marking the spot. They're a little nervous right after giving birth, and I always approach slowly, talking quietly as I go, trying my best not to spook them.

I never tire of the sight. New life is a gratifying thing, and being able to witness it on a regular basis is God's gift to me. This one was a little bull calf, black with a partially white face.....almost identical to his mother, and she was very proud. I stood back as she licked him dry and nudged him until he stood on his wobbly legs and began the search for nourishment.

Just another day at the ranch......but, one with a spectacular start wouldn't you say? I think so, but as always, what do I know?

Life in the slow lane.....

As a young man, fresh out of college and working my very first job in corporate America, my dreams were big, but the salary was lagging behind the dreams. As is the case with most entry level jobs, the wages were low, the hours were long, and most of the assignments were monotonous.

In addition to the tedium of the job, I was faced with the first rush-hour commute of my life. For some reason, every major corporation felt the need to have their corporate offices within the confines of "downtown". Therefore, at approximately the same hour every morning, thousands of people driving thousands of cars, converged onto the two major arteries wending their way to town.

Not only was the commute time consuming, it was also quite expensive for a fledgling corporate drone. Fortunately for me there were many others sharing the same dilemma, and it was not unusual to see the bulletin board filled with notes....."ride needed"...."carpool opportunity"...."pay to ride". All one needed to do was find the right address, make a phone call, and voila.....instant carpool.

Soon after I made that fateful phone call, Jim, Charlie, and I were sharing the driving duties from the southeast suburbs into downtown. The expressway of choice was the most direct route into downtown, but it seemed to be constantly undergoing some type of construction, narrowing from four lanes to three lanes, then to two lanes as it dumped thousands of cars onto the one-way streets leading to acres of asphalt parking lots.

We were seated three abreast in Jim's old Ford pickup. The fan for the A/C was working great, but the air was blowing hot, just like outside.....Ugh, summer in Oklahoma.  We were nearing downtown and gradually making our way over to the right lanes as directed by the signs and orange barrels.....slowing to a crawl....sweating and thinking about another day at the office. Suddenly a very old, very large, very dirty car swerved to avoid the barrels and cut us off short!  Tires shrieked on the hot asphalt, and expletives filled the air, adding to the already overheated cab of our ride.

Jim Saporito was Italian, and Italians are sometimes known to have short, volatile tempers......I glanced over at Jim and watched his neck and face begin to redden. His lips were thin and drawn tight. Then, the driver of the very old, very large, very dirty car raised his hand to give a little wave of thanks for allowing him to cut in.

Wrong move.

Jim's equally old, large, dirty pickup suddenly lurched forward and "gently bumped" the car being driven by that ever so polite man who had waved at us. Dirt that had been caked underneath that old car for years raised little puffs of dust as it hit the roadway. Meanwhile, a smile slowly crept across Jim's face as he said, "I was okay with the SOB until he had the nerve to give us that little wave."

The next time you're tempted to race up to the front of the line and cut someone off in order to save yourself a couple of minutes, you might want to remember the story of Jim and his old pickup....It might just happen again, but what do I know.

Just another old fish story...

This mild weather has turned my thoughts to some fair-weather fishing. I've heard there are anglers that absolutely live to fish, and a little foul weather never acts as a deterrent to them as they grab their gear and head to the nearest lake, pond, or river to pursue their passion......And, while I really enjoy fishing, I guess you would identify me as an angler "lacking true passion".

If it's too cold, I don't fish; if it's raining cats and dogs, I don't fish; if it's too hot, I don't fish. Sorry, that's just the way I pursue this popular pastime.....thus the term fair-weather fishing.

Lazily floating down a secluded stream, fishing pole in hand, enjoying the sights and sounds of nature as the sun warms my shoulders.....that's my idea of the ideal fishing trip. If I catch fish, that's just a bonus.....okay, maybe not so much a bonus as a distraction. Kind of like golf.....a great walk in the country interrupted by having to chase a little white ball.

Last spring the river was at flood stage when we took our annual fishing trip. The result was a roaring trip down the river with each of us more intent on survival than fishing. Aah, but the year before was perfect, and I look forward to this year being the same.

The morning had been about as perfect as you would ever want. Steve and I had been floating, fishing, and enjoying the spectacular views along the river. A few hundred yards behind us, two of our fishing partners were drifting along in their canoe.....they were actually catching fish, but otherwise following the same course as the two of us. They were the elder members of our group, men with more experience on the river than Steve and I combined, and listening to their stories of a lifetime of pursuing their passion was a delight to all of us.

As we steered the boats over to a shady sand bar for our lunch break, we looked forward to hearing their stories as much as the ham sandwiches packed in the coolers. A few minutes later their canoe scraped to a stop on the sand bar and we pulled it to shore.

"You boys ready for lunch?  So are we, so lets get to it."

Of course they made a big show of pulling their stringer of fish up so we could admire their catch,,,,,showoffs.

It's surprising how hungry you get after a morning of floating and fishing so everyone got busy pulling sandwiches, chips, and sodas from the coolers. Then, Steve stood up, walked over to these two grizzled old fishermen, and said, "I've got some hand sanitizer here, you want some?"

I glanced up just in time to see the priceless look on their faces.....I'd wager a very large sum of money that it was the first time either of them had ever been offered hand-sanitizer while fishing, and they were speechless.

I'll never forget that moment in time.....and I'm pretty sure it's etched in their memories as well. My guess is that it will be another fish story those two will enjoy telling for a long time.....I hope so, but what do I know.

Step forward and sign your name....

In August of 1969 I turned eighteen years old, and like every law-abiding, red-blooded American I hustled down to the Selective Service office and registered for the draft. Yes, the draft.....everyone's favorite way to get matriculated into military service. But wait, I'm going to college and have been granted one of those great incentives for staying in school, a student deferment! No problem here.

Fast forward a couple of years; "Yes ma'am, I'm still in school and should still have a deferment. No ma'am, I have not dropped out. Yes ma'am, I've transferred twice within the last year......What?"

In August of 1971 Miss Elizabeth and I were married and were preparing to move to Tulsa where I would be attending the University of Tulsa. The conversation above took place in October, two months after we had exchanged our vows. Possible change of plans.....

Thirty-four nervous young men from southeast Kansas were huddled outside waiting for the office door to open.  We were told to be there by 8:00am. It was now 8:05, and the lady inside finally ambled to the front and clicked the lock to open the door. I was still holding out hope that my student deferment had been reinstated, but I had heard nothing, so I joined the group as we shuffled through the door and into the large waiting area.

The woman walked to her desk, sat down, and said, "You are all going to be boarding that bus parked outside which will then take you to Kansas City for your induction physical. When I call your name, step forward and sign your name on the sign-up sheet."  She was very matter-of-fact, and very efficient.

As the names were being called, in alphabetical order of course, I stood near the back, halfway listening and hoping my name had not made the final cut.....Wait, she had jumped right past the Ns, and my name was not called.  I knew it, I would be going back home soon. "Westin, David", my good friend's name was called....probably last on the list, poor guy.

"Newcomb, Jack, would you come up here please?" She was looking at me over the top of her glasses. This was it, I was headed back home instead of Viet Nam!

"Mr. Newcomb, you are now in charge of this group of young men! They are your responsibility." she said as she handed me a large manila envelope. Wait a minute, there's been a terrible mistake....I don't even belong here....I'm enrolled in college!  She continued, "In the envelope you will find everyone's meal tickets, bus tokens, room reservations"........her voice droned on, but I heard little of what she was saying. 

A few minutes later we were on the bus and picking up speed as we headed to Kansas City.....a mistake to be sure, but what did I know?

At age five, words like segregation and integration meant nothing...

Recently, there's been a great discussion among many of my facebook friends regarding race relations in the small community of our youth. It's been incredibly interesting to glean from the posts how each of us came away with a different perception of our lives in the fifties and sixties. Some views are very negative, while others are overly rosy. I fall somewhere in between.

How is it that people who grew up literally across the street from each other in our small town have such different memories? I suppose it all depends on which side of the street you were on.

I started elementary school in 1956, just two years after our elementary schools became integrated. At the age of five, words like segregation or integration meant nothing, and color was something we were trying to learn from the old color-wheel. You know, red, green, yellow, blue.....and yes, black and white.

I guess, based upon the facebook discussion, there was indeed racism, bigotry, and segregation in our small town. Looking back, the Black population resided primarily on the east side of town, although there were some Black families scattered throughout the community. I never really gave that much thought, it was just the way it was.

My neighborhood was quite different. I lived in the far northeast part of town, in a modest house situated within the shadows of the oil refinery and set back about thirty feet from the road to the city dump. The tank cars clanged along the railroad tracks about 50 yards from our front yard. But, most of all, our neighborhood was an eclectic collection of people of color. Within two square blocks I had friends who were Black, Indian, Hispanic, and even a few White folks. That was my world, so when integration came along it was simply an extension of my life.

When I started school, I was joined by the friends from my neighborhood and a whole lot of other kids who looked just like them. Nothing different, just more of the same. I know now that the situation was different in other schools, but at the time, that was outside of my little world.


Sometimes I wish we could go back to those simpler times and live like those kids of all colors who played together, fought together, and lived life without regard to race. I know we've come a long way since then, but the young kids in that fully integrated neighborhood of my youth already had it figured out.....

But then, we grew up and made it complicated. Too bad, but what do I know.

The epitome of cool....

Fall of 1967....I'd just turned sixteen years old and was driving the 1957 chevy I'd spent all summer getting ready. 

The transformation was a sight to behold.....new blue paint, new white interior, new carpet, new chrome reverse wheels, and a V-8 engine with a throaty growl thanks to newly installed dual exhaust with glass packs.

What had started as a $95 "Needs a little TLC" project was complete! I'd spent every penny earned that summer, and had enlisted the help of everyone I knew to get it done, and now.....

Junior year, here I come.....epitome of cool.....at least in my mind's eye.  That's all that matters, right?

The first few weeks of school are filled with all kinds of administrative necessities; changing schedules, home room assignments, class elections, etc. etc.  Of course, we also started football practices right after school, everyday.....busy times.

Typically, we would finish practice around 5:30pm; I'd drive to the A&W for a large root beer (and to show off the car), then drive home where Mom would have dinner on the table by six.

You could always tell when Mom was upset by the way she moved around the kitchen, a little too much clanging of the pots and pans, a little too much force when setting the plates on the table, and not a hint of a smile......hmmm, wonder what's wrong?  I'd done nothing, so I assumed it was something unrelated to me and I could rest easy.  But, as I settled into my place at the table, I was met with "that look"......Uh oh, what had I done?  My mind raced, but came up blank. "What?" I said as she continued to give me the silent treatment.

Finally she said, "How are things at school?" Now I'm only sixteen, but even at that age, I knew this was a loaded question....."Fine" I said, as my mind continued to frantically search for a reason for this interrogation.

"I ran into Johnny's mother at the grocery store today."  Again, I've got no clue. Johnny is my best friend, but as far as I knew we were innocent of any recent wrong-doings, I swear!  Then, Mom said, "The first thing Mary said to me was congratulations on Jack being elected as class president. I was so embarrassed because I didn't even know what she was talking about!"

Ahh, a sin of omission, I can live with that! I'd simply forgotten to mention the results of the election at school.

It wasn't the first time I'd failed to divulge things that had happened at school....like that big fight in the 8th grade, or that time we set off the M-80s right outside the window, or perhaps a thousand other things if I was being completely honest. So, I said I was sorry, she forgave me, and all was back to normal.

A few weeks later, this very same class president, driving his very cool '57 chevy, was idling through the aforementioned A&W. The place was packed.....I was cool....   

I was out of gas!

Everyone who gets a little too big for their britches, such as the sixteen year old "epitome of cool", knows the feeling of wanting to be able to disappear. But, instead you become fodder for the school newspaper, ratchet yourself down a couple of notches, and learn a little humility. 

Could happen.....but really, what do I know?