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Thread: Tocky's Tales

  1. #151
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    I go back farther. I remember Slurpies at the 7-11 in comic book hero cups. No stories I can recall about them but we used to bike everywhere as a kid. Our parents gave us run of the land. Even when we visited cousins in Memphis which is now a crime ridden hell hole. It wasn't then. The first McDonalds I ever saw was there. My first big Mac. So exotic with it's thousand Island dressing. Bikes were a big thing to us then. Mine was an ape hanger handle barred purple banana seated Sears model. Great for popping wheelies. I likely developed my great ass from peddling that thing all over. Every woman who ever dated me remarked on my ass. I guess because my face was nothing to write home about.

    LOL. Just read my sentence "I developed my ass from peddling that thing all over".

    Anyway I remember when I couldn't ride. I was nine and should have learned by then. I don't know, I was a strange kid. I liked other kids alright but I liked solitude a fair amount too. Many of my hobbies were things I did on my own like reading and model building. I had a model of every tank made and knew a Panzer from a Panther. Anyway, one weekend I spent with my cousin in Taylor. Taylor is now a suburb of Oxford and all foo foo country chic. Back then it was just country. One rundown store and post office and sure as hell no pottery studio. I loved the way things were back then. Authentic.

    So my cousins were all riding bikes and went to borrow one from a guy who had an extra and they wanted me to ride with them. I was embarrassed I hadn't learned yet. Snake was a little older and more pushy. His real name was Pat but we all called him Snake because of his saying there was a "nake in the moke house" when he was little and it hanging on him. He was a weird kid. But funny. Who is going to win the game, Snake? I don't know but if they keep this up one of them is. But which one? Likely the one that don't lose. Anyway he kept after me to ride it and all I could come up with was I could only ride my bike because it was lower to the ground. I couldn't ride any bike. He kept after me but I knew I was going to make a royal fool of myself if I got on it. A few times I nearly did he was so persuasive. He was pretty disgusted I wouldn't ride with them. He accused me of lying about being able to which of course was exactly right. No, no, I just need MY bike. What a liar I was.

    So of course when I came home I set about learning to prove to him I could next time it came up. It never did somehow. But I learned. I took my ratty old sisters hand me down bike to the biggest hill around and it was do or die. I didn't die. Anyway, this was a boring story but it's just what came to mind from rereading yours, Pyrian. It's all in there isn't it? Every little incident is in our heads somewhere.

  2. #152
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2004
    The word is "pedaling", Tocky.

  3. #153
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2003
    The first word is the hardest, but I kind of promised to write something here, so I'll just start with whatever comes to mind.

    I grew up in a small town: a school, a gas station, a hardware store, and, a little on the side, a small library. People were invested in living there, and we had everything we needed, even a candy store. The rest was countryside, farmlands, woods, a lake. Everyone went to the same school, the same shops, saw the same things on the telly. It was a small community where people knew each other, either through school or the sawmill, which pretty much dominated the town's centre if there ever was one. My dad used to go there for timber and sometimes he took me with him. Talked to guys in overalls and brought home a smell of sawdust. Later it was decommissioned.

    Being a kid, you either got into sports or the outdoors -- kind of like the scouts, but without the silly uniforms and the military-like rituals: we learned how to make a fire, handle a knife, build shelter, anything necessary for an outdoors life. I was out a lot in the woods, together with others at first and then, when that too was decommissioned, on my own. There were a few close friends, but at heart I was a solitary kid. I sought it out and lost contact.

    Let's start with that. Might make for a better understanding of what comes later.

  4. #154
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    Go ahead, I'm listening. You might be disappointed to learn the only thing military about scouting is the uniform and salute though. Anyway, I'm listening.

  5. #155
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2003
    Haha, yeah, I figured it was, but, you know, any chance to bash the scouts -- or the military -- is a good chance. All in good spirit, though. There was a bit of rivalry between the scouts and our thing, but nothing serious, of course: it was just like "Okay, here's the deal, you can join us or you can join the scouts. It's up to you. We would prefer it if you joined us, though -- and we think you will come to realize that you would prefer it too."

    My relations to the military is another story I could tell some time.

  6. #156
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    Well shit. I guess it was just a tease huh qolelis?

    I've thought of several stories but they are all long and I don't feel like a long one just now. Instead I'll just tell of the last time I thought life was going to be perfect. It's not. It's not for anyone. Not even for those rich and good looking bastards we envy. It always goes wonky somehow. But for a few moments early on we have some crazy notion things will be exactly what we want for the rest of our lives. It's kind of like believing in magic for awhile. Not that there isn't some measure of magic in everything.

    I was sixteen and still a virgin if you don't count oral. It was my second date with Laurie and our first without her sister as a chaperone. We even went to the movie we were supposed to see. But we didn't see any of it. Instead we kissed the entire show. The taste of cinnamon gum and lip gloss. I could touch her anywhere I wanted because she wanted that too. We joked about our "soldiers" at attention when we were around each other. She had her soldier girls pointing beneath her blouse and I my, well, you get it. She even admitted the reason she kept pushing me backward when we kissed was to feel "me" against her. I don't think it's true that we don't have a clue what life is at that age. We do. We know we are young and what we are made for. We know life will never be a series of firsts again and to enjoy the ones we get. John Melencamp knew. Life goes on long after the thrill of living it's gone.

    When we left her house that evening she slid over next to me as soon as we were out of sight. Such a long winding road from her house to Oxford. Not anymore. Straight as a board now. I drove left handed with my arm around her. I still drive left handed today. But then we just couldn't get close enough soon enough. All those letters we sent to each other during the school day. Nine pages. Fourteen pages. Three times a day sometimes. Folded in this weird self contained way I've not used since. Quite shocking in their desire. And so close to fulfillment.

    Back at her house we couldn't let each other go. The light over the steps at the side entrance where I parked still kept us hidden unless someone looked out the kitchen window. I don't think they ever did. I don't know because we kept kissing so much. She would be on the top step saying goodbye and then come down to kiss some more or I would come up or we would meet in the middle of this tall set of stairs. I guess we kept that up for a half hour. Our last kiss was on the third step from the bottom and I let her go then to get in my car. She watched me out of sight.

    On that long winding ride home, first her winding road to Oxford, then mine from Oxford, I listened to the radio thinking about her, how she looked, her eyes sparkling when she spoke, how her lips parted slightly as she leaned into me, her smell and softness, her perfect hair I knew she had spent an hour on, stiff toward the edges from hair spray and soft at the nape of her neck. I searched for some real rock on the radio but it seemed to be all disco or corny love songs. Then I turned off onto a straight stretch of road which cut through to more curves near home, the one we used to race the quarter mile on which was considerably longer than that. This song came on and I'm sure it had been out for a while but I had felt it was too soft for me. It wasn't that night. That night it was perfect. Everything was perfect and it always would be from now on. I just knew it. Whenever I hear this song today, wherever I am, I get that feeling I had then and recall that night. Baby Got Back... no, no, not that one. This one.


  7. #157
    I got a story for ya! This one time my grandma(NOT my great grandma Spell, I'm talking about my dad's mom - just Grandma) told me a joke. It went something like this: There once was a white horse. Pure white like an angel. And this horse was running in circles around a mud puddle. Around and around it went. Then, it fell in. The end.

  8. #158
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    That isn't a story, it's a dirty joke.

    At this time of year I feel the years. The earth cold and dead awaiting a rebirth. One year it will be reborn without me. It's good to know it will. My time will never come again and that's okay. I have enjoyed mine more than most and I feel fortunate to have lived in the perfect time. In my time we were between wars but not between enemies. So very lucky to have been born just missing the Vietnam war yet still in time to see man land on the moon and fill my heart with hope for what we can do. We saw the birth of technology advances before they were harnessed against us. We are extraordinary in all ways good and bad. Is the world too much with us? I dissent Wordsworth. We can be too much for the world but it is never too much with us. We came in at the height of decadence but with the benefit of solid values. If there was any drawback it was that I saw the death of things I knew others would not even know to miss.

    During all this I lived my life. I married a beautiful woman not because we agreed on everything but because we agreed on one thing. Love makes it bearable. We raised kids. We made mistakes. We lost those we loved. As Jackson Brown said, we get up and do it again... amen. I know what's around the corner and it ain't pretty. But that's okay too. We had the very best of times. I was so wild. I get defensive about it when me and Kevin talk. I don't feel as if I was the instigator always but maybe I was. Maybe I wanted things to happen without restraint. Maybe I was damn the torpedoes. Maybe I wanted things to remember even at the cost of things to regret. But I love. I love at the cost of not being loved and in spite of it. I love always. I remember. Surely that is compensation for a little mayhem and occasional disaster. We got away with it all didn't we? All maybe but the damage done our consciences.

    I get the regrets this time of year and want to be forgiven. I know I was reckless. I was nobody's good example. I know I could have done better. I hope I didn't hurt anyone seriously. I never meant to. But I worry I have. Every little thing effects something. Hell, I even risked others lives. So, about that spinning on the road....

    Me and Greg Cook had been out bar hopping the night before and he had spent the night at my house for some reason. I was a little pissed at him. He had told me the night before that he had been with Beth. She had dumped him too as she did all her one night stands. I was really mad at myself for not just staying friends with her instead of going further. I liked her and screwed that up. I would rather had her as a friend. Anyway he had said some stuff about her that was true but I didn't like hearing and then this particular morning had woken me early (with full blown hangover) to take him home. Fine then. He would get a ride.

    Old six is crooked as a criminal snake in a silly straw and I put the hammer down. I kept expecting him to say something and the more he didn't the faster I got. He just tried to be all cool about how I took the curves I knew so well. The bastard was trying to out cool me. The hill at Camp Hopewell is an S curve up it and an S curve down it. Right before it I passed a car doing ninety and made it around the first curve fine but on the switchback curve I got sloppy and let the rear wheel slip off onto the gravel shoulder and that was all it took. Around and around we went maybe five times or so and at the end I got control enough to back it to the opposite shoulder and let the car we just passed go by. I looked at Greg and he had on these sunglasses and he just pulled them down and looked at me. Bastard was still trying to be cool.

    I floored it and came up behind that car again as we started into the downhill curves. I stayed there for the first curve but as soon as the second one straightened a bit I passed it again. I wonder what those people thought. No I don't. It was "look at this idiot". Anyway, I got him home and he even thanked me for the lift. The fucking nerve. I could not rattle him. Some years later I heard he died in a car wreck. I wonder did what I had done play any part in that. I have that smirky challenging thing going on sometimes. Maybe to him I seemed the cool one. Maybe I planted a seed that grew a poison plant. I don't know. All I know is he didn't get the rest of his life like I did. It bothers me when I think about it.

  9. #159
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2001
    Location: Somewhere
    well what was the one thing you agreed on?

  10. #160
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    That puppies are cute. Dude. It was the very next sentence. "Love makes it bearable". Life, you know? Not that we don't forget that sometimes. My wife and me are very different people. Over a lifetime we found our similarities and ground down our differences but the thing which held was that.

    Damn. After reading what I wrote to find out what you were asking I realized I was unknowingly parodying A Tale of Two Cities. I get pretentious when I drink but I find it hard to just plunge into writing unless I have been.

    And you did it to me again. I got all excited thinking you had written a story.

  11. #161
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2003
    Quote Originally Posted by Tocky View Post
    Well shit. I guess it was just a tease huh qolelis?
    I lost my momentum...

    I could tell you about one of the times I was out skiing (cross-country):
    While I was still living with my parents I often went out skiing in the woods surrounding the town I grew up in. When I was too young to go alone, the whole family often went, but as I grew older, I most oftenly went on my own. My dad and I still ski together on occasion (when the increasingly milder winters allow it), which are cherished memories, but, as he's getting older, these shared trips are getting fewer.

    This particular time I arrived at an oblong opening in the woods. Some hundred meters away, in the other end of the opening, I saw two guys. I couldn't see what they were doing and ignored them, passing the opening unnoticed. The trees soon grew denser on the other side, though, so I decided to go back the way I came. Back at the opening I passed a small hut with darkened windows and something sticking out of one of them. The two guys from before were gone. I didn't pay much attention and passed the opening again.

    Worth noticing is that I hardly ever saw anyone on these trips. Skiing wasn't unheard of, but if people did it, they went dressed in spandex, doing a couple of rounds, and then went home again. Going off-trail like I did -- way off -- was my thing alone. I was used to being on my own -- expected it even -- and often stayed out the whole day, sometimes even until it was too dark to see. One could even say I went on these trips to get away from people, so when the two guys were gone, things just went back to normal and I was happy that everything was quiet again. The guy calling me from behind wasn't as happy, though. He seemed slighty upset. Apparently I could have died that day. Fool's luck I didn't.

  12. #162
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    The oblong clearing was a grave? The thing sticking out of the window was a gun? You didn't notice the house the first time you passed? The guy was chasing you? Lots of intimations but I'm not clear on what happened. Maybe you aren't either?

  13. #163
    Member
    Registered: Jul 2002
    Location: Edmonton
    You've got some interesting stories, Tocky. I had ignored the thread till now, but today I spent most of my lunch break skimming and reading selected entries (mostly the sex ones, I admit). Part of the reason that you're not getting more audience participation I think is that your audience is, by and large, I'm sure, not as outgoing as you, and reading other people's exploits tends to make the introverted among us feel as though we haven't really lived. In fact, that has been a persistent vague source of anxiety for me, the idea that I haven't had the kinds of experiences I ought to. In my weaker moments it sometimes gets to me, but I think the truth is closer to what you say, that we all do live interesting lives, and the secret is to just recognize it. So while I haven't slept with scores of women or taken LSD (uh oh, anxiety rising), I've actually had a lot of great moments in my life, and I treasure those memories. But this brings us to what I think is the bigger problem:

    I'm terrible at relating them.

    I'm not at all a practiced storyteller, and while I think some of those moments could be interesting stories, they probably wouldn't come out that way if I told them now. But reading through your life has inspired me to start writing more. Maybe with a little practice I'll gain the confidence to contribute here.

    In the meantime, I'm curious to know (apologies if you explained this already) how many of these tales you've told your wife. You mentioned at one point that you've had to keep them to yourself, but surely she's aware of them?

  14. #164
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    Woah, I've not slept with scores. Maybe scorish. How much is a score? I'm near certain it's under twenty. It's not quantity anyway. Not with anything in life. And it's your life. Not for me or anyone else to judge.

    As for the storytelling, well I grew up among storytellers so that helps. Just try to pare things down to how you felt and what you did and how what you felt made what you did happen. That works best for me.

    I've told my wife some but I stay away from the ones involving other women. If you tell one to a small group and look around and everyone is laughing except your wife then it's not worth telling. I've told various ones to various folks for various reasons but here at TTLG is where I've told the most to one group. When I'm with this friend or that we tend to tell each other those we are both in or those that involve the people we both know. I even find out things that fit in with my own view of a particular story that way and give me insights as to what everything was about sometimes.

    I'm glad my stories have inspired you to get yours in order and I will wait as patiently as I can. No, seriously, if you write them down for nobody but you that is a good thing. It's a kind of therapy to figure things out that happened by putting them in order and filling in the details till you understand yourself. I bet others would find it interesting though. Work on getting all the details down though. Don't skimp or skip over things. That is most folks story telling problem. It isn't mine. Mine is cutting things down to make them readable in a digestible block.

  15. #165
    Quote Originally Posted by Tocky View Post
    That isn't a story, it's a dirty joke.
    Oh god, don't tell me there are some undertones I'm missing here, lol. I couldn't picture my grandma telling me a dirty joke. She had just had a lot of silly jokes and stories.

    She was born and raised in a little place called Cow Tail, which is on a back road about 50 miles east of where I live. She told me about the first time she went to the drive-in. She said it wasn't a drive-in like you see in the movies though; she and all her friends from school would go to her neighbors barn on the weekends and sit on hay stacks and watch movies on a projection set the fellow's son had. That was the movie theater in Cow Tail, lol.

    You won't find Cow Tail on a map, it's just the name the locals gave to their little strech of highway. For intance, people call where I live Midway, because is supposedly about midway between Charleston, S.C. and Augusta, G.A.
    Last edited by curseofnight; 5th Mar 2019 at 21:41.

  16. #166
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    It is one of the first jokes kids tell. You are supposed to pull them in with "do you want to hear a dirty joke?" and then let them down with "a white horse fell into a mud puddle". Even as a kid I never found it funny. It's one where the teller is supposed to get the laugh but on either end I just found it lame. Maybe I liked real dirty jokes.

    I love those little snippets out of the lives of old folks. It really gives a perspective we can never reach nor will ever fully understand because you had to be there. It's like hearing of life on another planet told by a familiar and sweet old soul on your own. Many interesting insights to be had in them too. Could be I'll tell of the time my great grandfather got shot back in the rough and tumble days but not just now.

  17. #167
    Moderator
    Registered: Jan 2003
    Location: NeoTokyo
    I'll tell you my favorite joke from my grandparents from their childhood... It really brought their era alive to me.
    So they're from southern Oklahoma and grew up in the depression / dustbowl era, when the joke takes place.

    A woman was walking home one day after a particularly bad dust storm and saw a cowboy hat lying on the ground. She thought it must have blown off somebody so she went to get it. But when she picked it up, she was surprised to see there was the head of a cowboy underneath it. She gave out a yelp and asked the head, "Oh! Are you alright?" The cowboy replied in his measured drawl, shaking his head, "Oh, ah'll be alright. Can't say the same for mah horse though."

  18. #168
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    That's a good one. It gives you a sense of their humor even in dire times. That generation had it harder than we can imagine and bore it better than I can imagine us doing.

    The only joke I can remember, and my dad told plenty but I can't recall them, is this one: A farmer was taking his load of corn to the grist mill (see how old it is?) and passed a man starving on the side of the road. Taking pity on him he reigned in his horse and asked the fellow if he would like some corn to help him out. "Is is shucked?", the man asked. "Well... no", the farmer replied. "Then drive on", said the man. Not a particularly funny one but it gives you a sense of what they thought of the value of work and the value of those who won't do it. There were a lot better ones told over the fence to our neighbor Mr. Hall some evenings after work but I have trouble recalling them. I recall Mr Hall took it hard when dad died, bless him.

    Okay, here is one. A man was driving his horse past a preachers field when he spied the prettiest horse he had ever seen. It must have been twenty hands high. He knocked on the door and offered the preacher twice the going rate but the preacher wouldn't sell. "That's a special horse", the preacher said, "it's been trained in the word of the Lord". Yeah, yeah, the man then offered him three times the going rate. The preacher thought about it then figured it could do a lot of good for fixing the church roof so he relented. "But you have to remember the commands", he told him, "it obeys them religiously". "For left it's Moses and for right it's Jesus and to stop it's get behind me Satan and for go it's praise the Lord." Yeah, yeah, the guy couldn't wait to get on this fine animal. As soon as he did he said "praise the Lord" and it took off. Every time he said it the faster it got. It was really flying. He was thinking of all the money he could win racing it when he noticed it was headed for a precipice with a steep drop of a couple hundred feet. Panicking he could not recall what the preacher said were the words to stop it. The edge was fast approaching and he was going over every bible verse he could think of. At the last second he recalled and shouted "get behind me Satan!" The horse dug in his hooves and slid right up to the very edge with a few pebbles tumbling over it. The man was so relieved looking over the edge that he sat back in the saddle and wiped his brow saying, "praise the Lord".

  19. #169
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2001
    Location: Somewhere
    I'm stealing that one

  20. #170
    Quote Originally Posted by Tocky View Post
    I love those little snippets out of the lives of old folks. It really gives a perspective we can never reach nor will ever fully understand because you had to be there....
    I agree completely, although I don't remember even a quater of my grandma's stories, let alone my great grandma Spell's stories(which where always better). I'll ask around about some old stories my elders told and post them here(if I anyone in my family remembers them...)

    I remember one about how my grandma won a pissin' contest. This happened outside the barn where they watched their movies. Apparently, she beat all the girls and the boys. She was very proud of that.

    I used to invite my friends over to her house, on the premise of having them try her excellent cooking(which was great!), with the ulterior motive of baiting her into telling that story just so my friends could get a laugh. I was an evil boy, lol. Love ya grandma!
    Last edited by curseofnight; 11th Mar 2019 at 18:29.

  21. #171
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2004
    Quote Originally Posted by curseofnight View Post
    I remember one about how my grandma won a pissin' contest.
    ...That's not a figure of speech this time, is it? D:

  22. #172
    Quote Originally Posted by Pyrian View Post
    ...That's not a figure of speech this time, is it? D:
    Nope, not a figure of speech, she pissed over 20 feet. That's the distance she swore by, anyway, lol.

    @ tocky - I've heard a variation of that joke before, only in this one the fella who brought the horse was white and the fella who sold it was black.

    My step brother is black and my fav crazy uncle is white and whenever they get together, all they do is tell racist 'black' and 'white' jokes to one-another. I mean, they can keep that shit going for hours (when one stops, the other is like 'oh yeah, I heard this from a fellow at work', etc...) That shit is hilarious, lol. I wish I could post some of that here as It's fucking hilarious, but I know someone(aka, some 'white person') would get offended...(this has been a running joke sense I was a kid - about how 'white people' always get offended on behalf of blacks...) I grew up, and still live in a 90% black community and in my experience, black people love a good 'black joke', as long as it's original, contains a grain of truth and, above all - actually Funny! I mean, that is the baseline for all jokes - who woulda thunk it?
    Last edited by curseofnight; 11th Mar 2019 at 20:11.

  23. #173
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    Black folks. Okay fuck it, let's talk about black folks. I've always felt they had a slightly different culture but they are the same in so many ways. I've felt guilty I never had a forever black friendship, not that it should even be a consideration. A dude named Dereck in the service I hung out with and traveled about carousing with. Nothing deep. We drifted. But I've gotten on with them, laughed with them, discussed things both serious and not. I used to sit on a back dock at Kellwood where I met my wife and smoke a J after lunch with a guy named Mack. He used to literally hide from work and that amused me. He had a fort built of boxes near the back of the warehouse he would hide in. I would come shoot the shit for awhile but I have that prol work ethic that guilts me if I do too much slacking. I helped him move a fridge once with my '76' Trans Am. No idea how. The trunk is like three feet deep at most. Must have been wedged good. We ate with his folks (about a dozen of them) after and some of them told racist jokes but I was never that comfortable even if I could have recalled any. I laughed. Not too hard just in case. Saw my first black Jesus painting there. His mom appreciated I could recall the passage where it describes Jesus as having hair like wool. I didn't tell her I recalled it from an episode of Good Times and not the Bible though.

    Mostly we drift apart at some point. I only have a core of four long term friends and none of them are black. I've also drifted from a lot of white guys I really like so maybe I shouldn't feel too guilty. I haven't seen my buddy Ace since my father in laws funeral. Ace loved that guy. I reckon my FIL treated him real well. Maybe guilt in his old age. Buying his way into heaven or something. He sure as hell didn't treat my wife well. He had a black son he never saw too. WE didn't even find out about my wife's brother until he was grown. Maybe with Ace (I worked with Ace about ten years before he moved to where my FIL worked) he was making up for being an asshole in his early years. Ace said he told him stories about how bad he was when he was young and felt bad about it. I can't forgive the man though. I know how deeply he hurt my wife. Ace is funny and just as bald faced honest as anyone can get so maybe that was a part of it too. Our paths haven't crossed since the funeral though.

    Working on my second Ken black friend now. You wouldn't think there would be that many. I told the first his parents named him that for camouflage. He told me that was right, that they didn't notice he was black with that name. He moved off to Texas and managed a dealership out there. Then I noticed a fellows name was the same last as Ken's while waiting in line at Pizza Hut and looking at the ready board. I asked was he kin and he said they were cousins. We talked about him for awhile before I asked how he was doing now. Dead. Heart attack. He always was kind of heavy. I wished I hadn't asked but that's the kind of crap you learn when you let folks drift away. I remember he asked me should he take money from an ex klansman once. He said some folks were giving him a hard time for doing work for him. I told him hell yeah, take ALL his money, make it an asshole tax in the final tally too. He liked that idea. The Ken now I've been friends with about fifteen years. I sold him my old Camero and then some asshole stole it and blew the engine before he could even paint it. He has been over to eat with us but we don't hang out a lot. He is real religious and I am a devout hedonist so....

    I was working toward a story but sidetracked myself with memories too much. Maybe I'll get to it next time. LOL about your grandma. With muscles like that I bet she kept grandpa happy.

  24. #174
    I had something stupid posted here. Nothing bad or anything. I was just wasted last night, lol.

    Oh god Tocky! I did not wanna think about that this morning, lol.

    Well, time drink some coffee, get woke up, and go do some grownup stuff. :/
    Last edited by curseofnight; 12th Mar 2019 at 10:02.

  25. #175
    Member
    Registered: Sep 2005
    Location: Not Kansas
    I never had any black friends as a kid, mostly because I grew up in an all-white small town in N.E. Illinois, about 35 miles north of Chicago, in the 50s and there just weren't a lot of black people living in the area. Even through highschool in the 60s there were only maybe about a handful of black students and they tended to stick together; not that they weren't friendly or anything, they just hung out together. You have to consider that 1965, my freshman year, was the same year as the Watts, California riots and racial tensions were high, though not so much at my highschool or even in the area in which I lived. As I said, the black population was very low in our small towns back then, so I and my peers never really had much interaction with them. Throughout my adult life I've worked with black people now and then and have managed to form a lasting friendship with a few. I don't refer to them as my black friends; they're just my friends, period.

    You see, my mom was born and raised in Germany and told us stories of what it was like to go through WWII, bombings and all. One story in particular always made me cry and that was the story of how she lost her best friend in the whole world when her friend and friend's family were arrested and taken to Dachau. At the time my mom didn't understand what happened to her friend and didn't know anything about a place called Dachau; one morning when she stopped at her friend's parents' bakery to pick her up for the walk to school mom saw that the bakery had been boarded up and there was some kind of official-looking notice posted on the bakery door. Before she could read it the wife of the butcher next door rushed out, grabbed my mom and dragged her into the butcher shop, telling her to never, ever stop at that bakery again. The butcher's wife only told my mom that her friend and friend's family had 'gone away' and wouldn't be coming back. Mom said that when she got home later that day and asked her mom about it, all my grandma would say is that my mom could never mention outside the family that she was friends with Lieselotta or that she knew Liesel's family. My mom said that at the time she was crushed and crying and told my grandma that she hated the people who took her friends away and wanted those people to be punished. It was years before my mom understood what had really happened. Mom told my brother & I other stories of how she lost more Jewish friends during the next couple years, before my mom & her family had to flee to western Germany to escape the invasion of Russian troops.

    So yeah, my sibs & I were raised by an anti-racist mother and father, even though back then we didn't even know the term. Nor did my brother and I understand the term 'Nazi-brats', which is what one neighborhood man called us when we stopped by his house to see if his daughter Sally could come out to play and he told us to get the fuck off his property (this was the early 50s, mind you, right after WWII). All we knew back then was that it made my mom cry when we asked her why Mr. Bellman called us that and asked what it meant and then it made my dad so mad that he stormed out of the house after mom told him and he paid a visit to Mr. Bellman (Dad was former USAF who'd been stationed in Germany after the war which was how he met my mom). The man never called us that again, but it must've been passed around the neighborhood because for quite a few months my brother and I were remanded to playing in our own yard; none of the other kids were allowed to play with us, but we didn't understand why. Life in a small American town post-WWII when your mom is from Germany. *smh*

    Fast forward to a few years ago when my granddaughter (my only daughter's only daughter) told me that her boyfriend of the past two years is black. Have to say I wasn't surprised; she'd attended a highschool where over 50% of the students are black. Keep in mind that my granddaughter's sperm donor (okay, biological father; I don't like him & never did because he's an asshole and I still don't understand what my daughter ever saw in him) is Hispanic; a fact that never bothered me at all, but I was surprised when a friend referred to my granddaughter as 'mixed'. Guess I just never thought about her that way. Two years ago my granddaughter found out she was pregnant by her boyfriend; her BC implant had failed. My only concern was for my granddaughter, her boyfriend and my future great-grandbaby and, considering the political climate that was growing then, how they would have a tough row to hoe because of the blatant racism that started re-emerging with the election of a new POTUS. Not trying to make this a post about politics, but from where I'm sitting, racism is running rampant .... again ..... and I detest that fact. I guess the only positive to this mess is that the racists are outing themselves and highlighting the flaws that still exist in our society, which in my mind means we obviously need to work on those flaws and fix them. But that's going to take time, I think, and in the meanwhile my granddaughter, her partner and their little boy will have to deal with that ugly racism, as will both of our families.

    During her pregnancy I got a chance to know her boyfriend and he turned out to be a great person; a young man who'd worked all through highschool and who was taking college courses to get a degree in business administration. I met his family and instantly took to his grandma and his mom; get them together and I end up with my sides aching from all the laughter. They're good people, plain and simple, and they raised a wonderful young man who is deeply in love with my granddaughter. I stopped thinking in terms of black or white a long time ago; now I just think in terms of people. Currently, my granddaughter and her partner are both working while taking college courses and in the process of looking to buy their first home. I am so proud of those kids that my heart is near to bursting!

    I'm still concerned with the racism that's running amok in our country and that my granddaughter, her now-fiancee and their beyond-precious little man have to endure that outright racism on occasion, but thankfully, so far it's just been a few nasty glares in their direction or a quickly-spoken snarky remark, both of which can be ignored. I absolutely HATE it that my sweet granddaughter and her partner have to be on the defensive too often when they go out together and though both hide it well, I know it's there. I just wish I could re-make this world into a better place for them and my great-grandson. Hell, I thought I was doing just that when I marched in all those anti-racism protests and participated in all those anti-racism events and volunteered with several anti-racism organizations back in the day. Well, back to the drawing board, as they say; it's not like I don't know how to fight against racism and bigotry, right? Been there, done that. It's just sad that we have to do it again. In the meantime I plan on enjoying the company of my extended family and doting on my first great-grandchild and spoiling him rotten, just like I did his mother and her mother before her. The devil can take the rest while my great-grandson bestows sloppy baby-kisses on my face.

    2017: Daughter and granddaughter (granddaughter just found out she's pregnant)


    2018: Granddaughter, future grandson-in-law and their precious little man


    2019: Great-grandson at 14 months (he's got his mama's eyes)


    2019: How can you not absolutely love this child?!!
    Last edited by Dia; 13th Mar 2019 at 09:23.

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