A Road Less Traveled...

I don't know why I am compelled to write about this particular memory, as it is not the best memory to have.. I especially don't know why I am writing about this just a couple hours before I find myself flying high in the sky for a weeks' worth of business meetings, workshops, training and such.

'It is what it is...'

Twenty-five years ago....I was sixteen.
I lived at home with my parents and I had my drivers license.
On a Sunday night, a friend and I ventured out to get some ice cream.
Baskin Robbins was closed...so we decided to go to a Dairy Queen a little bit further away.
We went through the drive through & got ourselves some wonderful delectables.
Pulling out the rear entrance, as opposed to the front where we had come in at, I found myself forced to take a right.
This one turn ended up throwing for a loop & ultimately throwing me into territory I had not chartered before.
I came upon a four-way stop and strained to see the names of the streets, hoping to orient myself as to which way to go.
Suddenly, two young men who had been standing at the intersection popped open the rear doors of my vehicle.
I turned around 'What the hell?!' and threw my purse to the floorboard.
Before you know it, I found myself in the position of being, what is known today as 'carjacked.'
These guys were armed with a variety of tools and weapons, none of which scared me as much as their callous, detached and self-spirited demeanor's.... as they held a razor to the side of my neck and barked orders at me.
They had me drive them around, here and there... I didn't know where I was anymore.
At one point, one fellow got out of the car and retrieved something from someone he obviously knew.
My friend recognized one of the young men as being the brother of a fellow who had just been arrested for killing their father.
He was called on it and really, didn't seem to give two hoots.... about his brother or his father. They told me to give them my purse. I told them to hold on, it was under my seat. I slid my license and one of my two fives into my sock and I gave them my purse.
They were talking about splitting us up...me and my friend.
My friend was actually trying to negotiate our way out this...entertaining the notion of him getting out and leaving on foot with one of the young men...trying to get them to agree to leave me alone.
I started cussing like a lunatic...nope, no effing way, we were not going to be separated, all for one and one for all...
I had awful visions of my friend being stabbed in the woods and of lord knows what happening to me, should I be left alone with one of these idiots.
I could see the road before me ending into another street with houses on it.
I saw a cinder block house just beyond the stop sign, right in the middle of the paved T-bone.
I remembered my brother accidentally spinning this vehicle in a 180 by slamming on the brakes.
I remembered the Bazaar brothers.
Profanities raced from my mouth and my parents little station wagon began to race even faster.
I thought I could do it.
I thought I could pull a one eighty.
I thought I could slam the back end into the cinder block porch.
I thought about the people inside.
Sleeping or gone, their house was one of the few with no lights on & no folks on the porch.
I thought I could stop this train wreck with injury only to us.
I thought it sounded better than the possible alternatives.
I thought about my friend.
My foot stayed pressed to the floor.
Everyone in the car was now screaming.
I crouched closer to the steering wheel.
My head was being pulled backwards by my hair.
The interior car light came on.
Porch lights flickered out in my peripheral.
A back door was open....then, two.
I slammed on the brakes.
The two guys jumped.
I sat there, shaking....looking...
As the last of the porch lights went out...

We made it home safely enough, minus a pocketbook, some sanity, some peace and some naivete. The next day, I got a perm to disguise the area of my head where I had my cut to an inch or two of my scalp. I never told my parents....and now, I always lock my car doors.

I still don't really know if what I did was right or wrong.

But at least, I'm still here to talk about it.

Sandcastles & Scrapping

In 1979, we lived in a very small town on the gulf coast of Mississippi. Our town was small, yet festive. We had one gas station, a grocery store no bigger than a 7-11 and a police department that consisted of 2 men & one woman. There were no casinos, bowling allies or movie theatres, but we did have annual festivities...the Blessing of the Fleet, Mardi Gras, the Crawfish Festival & more.

These events were very important, perhaps more important there than in other larger communities where the citizens had more entertainment on a daily basis. One of these events was the Annual Sand-Sculpture Contest. It was an all day event...beginning at 8am and ending promptly at 5. I can't recall how many contestants there were, but the usually desolate beach was packed with each group assigned to a 20' x 20' section of sand.My brother, a year and a half my senior, and I were contestants.

We got to the beach when the wind was still cold and the water freezing. We lugged 5 gallon buckets, shovels, forks, picks and knives to our little plot in the sand. We worked with increasing franticness throughout the morning. At lunch time, we were able to walk around & enjoy the eye candy of everyone else's creations. It was amazing spectacle.... mermaids, ships, lobster, gnomes, houses and more... all built of sand.

After lunch, my brother felt somewhat already defeated. The other sandcastles seemed to be so detailed and grand compared to our massive mound of sand, true. But we, still had a wonderful fondation and were left only with the details that would make our castle 'pop.' So, I took to one side and he took to the other....slicing, carving, smoothing & shaping.

'Damn it!' was the first profanity I heard from the other side of our mound. I asked 'What is it?' The mumbled words held a warning for me....'Nothing! Just shut up.' Ut-oh... young teen-age boy testosterone kicking in on the other side, I shut up. A few minutes passed and I could hear more... 'Stupid peice of sh-t.' Ut-oh, he's wearing thin. I said not a word. Then I heard the caravan of every word our Mother had told us to never use... they rolled off of his tongue and into te air like a tsunami. I walked over to his side to see what the problem was. A small section of the castle kept collapsing. He warned me, 'Don't say a word, I know it sucks! We're gonna lose!'

I smiled (mistake) and said, 'It'll be ok...we can fix it!' Boom! Trigger was tripped, the levy was broke & the profanities flew. I shut up. When he seemed to calm down a bit, sitting on his upturned 5 gallon bucket, I ventured to speak again. 'Maybe some more water in the sand will help.' He looked at me and sighed in defeat, 'Yeah, maybe. I'll get it, I'm just taking a break.' Ok, cool. I ventured back to my side...packing & poking my sand.

I saw my brother walk to the water with his bucket/stool in hand. He filled it with water & came back. Another labored sigh and 'Ok, I can do this.' I let him be, not saying a word. He could do it, I just knew it. He had been stressed & just needed a little bit of peace. Hopefully, the break and the absence of my voice were his tickets to peace.

Moments later, the motherload of profanities flew through the air. A hurricane in our little section of the sand. Water flying upwards, downwards & sideways. Sand being blasted, smashed & our castle trashed. A 5 gallon bucket of water had been slung onto the face of our sculpture. I had rose to my feet just in time to have sandy water splatter into my face. I paced maybe a step or two when I saw the bucket get thrown into the remains of our melting castle. A pace later, I could see his leg & foot maliciously kicking the remains of our sculpture.

That's when it happened. The storm in me had been aroused. I jumped onto my sibling like an angry hornet attacking someone who had intruded their nest. We were rolling in the sand, fists and feet flailing. Whack! Bam! Crack! I felt it. I heard it. I did not immediately see it.

In the flurry of sand and elbows, in a rage of munts, grunts and occassional profanities the sun disappeared from my sky, the sound of the waves & the wind had ceased. Whack! Crack! Bam! echoed in my head and on my back through all of our munting & grunting & heaving of air.

Then I saw him. A little old man. Bent knees. Dark gray hair gone wild. Cane in hand, but not on the ground. 'Damn Shame!'

I froze. His cane was once again over his head & he was ready to pelt me again. He said, 'Where's your mother?! You children should be ashamed!' Once again, I said nothing. I looked around, scanning the masses for our mother. Still spitting sand out of my mouth & collapsed on top of my brother, I scanned the masses for our Mother.

I saw her. She was about 5 castles away, backside to us... walking away. I called for her. She didn't flinch. I yelled loudly for her, she kept walking away.

The old man, cane still overhead, said 'Get up you shameful little varmit!' Where's your mother.' I got up and spotted my mother, now twice as far away & gaining speed. I told him, 'I'm sorry. Your'e right. We should be ashamed & I am ashamed. I'm sorry. Would you please lower your cane?'

Humpft! 'Where's your mother.'
I got up and spotted my mother, now twice as far away, backside still to us. 'Our mother didn't come out today'

Pray if you Want to Pray, Wish if You Will...

Pray, protest, think, wonder, dream, hope, wish, want, beleive...
Life has always been about quality, not quantity.
For some of us, knowingly, others not...