They say a writer should write what they know and I like funny little stories. Some stories were not so much fun when they happened, but almost all of life's down times reveal a subtle lighter side as well.
Hard times especially lead to great stories. Here are a few of my favorites. There are definitely more to come. You'll need to determine whether that is a good thing or not. :)
Hard times especially lead to great stories. Here are a few of my favorites. There are definitely more to come. You'll need to determine whether that is a good thing or not. :)
Great Stuff on Amazon
Celebrity Anecdotes: Funny Stories About the Stars
Amazon Price: $17.99 (as of 11/24/2009) 
My Dad
Stories about Dad and I throughout my life.
I have exactly two heroes in my life. Dad is one and Mom is the other. If I could be just one-tenth the man my father is I'd be a very happy camper. He sets a very high bar.
- The Post That Moved
When I was 16 I learned to drive. I took the Driver's Ed course at De La Salle High School in New Orleans. I passed everything and was told by my dad that I couldn't drive until I was 18. I knew better than to attempt to negotiate some things and this was one of them. I was really disappointed.
When I turned 18 I was the designated "go for" driver. Charles, will you go for this. Charles will you go for that. Charles, will you go for dinner. Charles, will you go for ... Well, you get the idea. One day I went for Popeye's Chicken. They have the best onion rings ever.
As I was leaving the parking lot I gunned the Grenada in reverse and ran into the cement base of a light pole. I got out and surveyed the damage. The passenger side rear quarter panel had shifted into the back door which had shifted into the front door which had shifted into the front quarter panel. There was no way I could avoid telling day what had happened. I went home with my last meal determined not to look like a man on death row.
Now, you need to understand my dad. He is not like other dads and after I got past my first two decades I finally realized just how great a guy he really was. I speak with him by phone at least once per month and make certain he knows I love him. I am certain he loves me.
At age 18 I was still convinced that my father could love me dearly and kill me at the same time. He had only spanked me 3 times in my entire life and had never hit me. Not disappointing him was not necessarily my strong suit, but I had this nagging feeling that I should not return home. I could eat all the chicken and onion rings on my way out of town.
After dinner I approached my dad. He was sitting outside watching the birds and drinking a beer. I sat next to him in one of those folding chairs and bared my soul. When I was 18 I measured 6 feet 7 inches tall in my bare feet. I had been playing basketball at 3 hours every day. I was no slouch. I was close enough to dad to be knocked across the yard and he was strong enough that I would be unconscious before I hit the ground. I am certain I would have easily cleared the fence and landed next door.
I have never been able to confirm it, but I think dad always suspected that I was hiding a lot of my faults from him. He was right. One thing a Christian Brother's school, like De La Salle, teaches young men is how to be very deceptive. When I got into trouble I think a part of dad felt a little pride that I wasn't always that kid who received perfect scores in conduct.
After hearing my tale of woe he asked me if I was hurt. I replied, "No. The only damage is to the car, but the passenger side car doors could not be opened any longer." He smiled. I assumed he was so shocked at my story that he had gone insane with rage. The repair would easily cost $800. No small sum to my dad.
This is what he said to me:
Charles, when I was 12 I stole my dad's Model A. I took it out into a field and ripped the transmission out on the car. When your grandfather came out to rescue me he only asked how I was, assessed the damage to the car and helped me tow it back to the barn. He taught me that any "thing" can be fixed, but humans sometimes couldn't be.
I had never driven a standard transmission vehicle, but I understood that ripping a transmission could mean that you shifted gears wrong and ground the transmission gears. I understood what he was saying, but I had to dig my hole just a little deeper. I replied:
Dad, I see what you are saying but you were 12 and grinding the gears is not the same as what I did to your car.
Then he said between chuckles:
No. Son. You don't understand I ran the Model A into a field and ran over a stump. When I stopped the car and the transmission were no longer attached to each other.
I can just see a younger version of my grandfather shaking his head, wondering how my dad pulled that one off.
So, what did my 18 year old mind conclude from this story? What moral did I take from this? Of course, today I realize how many accidents I avoided by waiting until I was 18 to drive. But back then I mostly remember that dad could drive at 12 years old and I had to wait until I 18!
It wasn't until my mid thirties that I realized what he had really said. He treasured his children more than he treasured a car.
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My Sisters
Stories about me and my sisters.
I have two sisters older than me and one younger and very close to my age. I have no idea why any of them ever trusted me, but they often did. Though we are spread over the country we do stay in touch.
- Trial and Error
There's a country and western song about long lessons learned. I don't recall the lyrics, but sometimes you have to fail and survive in order to learn a life lesson. here's a tale that many of you may have learned too.
My dad had this old lawn mower where you had to flip the top and crank a handle instead of pulling a cord. The crank tightened a spring and the a release would let it fly to crank the engine. It was probably a good design when it was new, but it was very old by the time I was old enough to cut the lawn.
I recall one Saturday afternoon when mom and dad were off some place and my eldest sister was left in charge. As you can imagine she always loved babysitting us because we were such exceptional children and behaved for our big sister just as we would for our mom and dad. No, really!
Getting me to mow the lawn was an exercise in futility. You haven't lived until you try to get me away from a television set on Saturday. So, it wasn't all that uncommon for one of my sisters to be out mowing the lawn on any given day. I swear the only words I heard from my mother some weeks was, "You're father is out there mowing the lawn. Why don't you go finish it up for him?" Even the guilt laid on by my Catholic mother couldn't get me out there.
On this day one of my sisters had started the mower and mowed the lawn. The mower was never an easy start and since I often avoided this chore I was not an expert on starting it. I did become well versed in stopping it. The reason for my dedication to that task follows.
Someone came to me and said the lawn mower wouldn't stop. I don't recall which sister fetched me, but I knew what had to done immediately. I tried to stop it the way we normally did, but my sister was right. The darn thing just wouldn't stop. It was way too noisy for me to let it just run out of gas and it was drowning out the television set, so I decided to disconnect the spark plug in an effort to slow Ol' Bessy down.
The first thing I saw was a pry bar. Now, for those of you unfamiliar with pry bars, they are used for prying and are great levers for taking nails out of wood. They are also very heavy because they are made of solid, very durable metal. Being thick they conduct electricity extremely well with a minimum resistance.
The pry bar extended my reach about 3 or 4 feet and had a handy curved end to hook the spark plug wire. It was practically screaming, "Use me." I only touched the wire for a second or two, but that was enough to put me in the circuit. That old lawn mower with its beer can patched deck and arm aching old fashioned crank sure taught me a healthy respect for electricity that day.
After my shocking revelation I found a stick and repeated my experiment. Sure enough that old mower stopped. As they say, any landing you walk away from is a good landing.
- Fight or Flight
I am no stranger to pain. I have broken more bones than most and for a few years my mother found it routine to get calls from school to inform her that I had unsuccessfully tried to damage the pavement with my head. In my defense I was growing about an inch per year and my muscles and tendons were having a tough time coordinating all that growth. I actually carried band aids in my top pocket because I expected a new cut or bruise every day.
I have always enjoyed bicycling. I don't lie to cyce with others. I've tried, but my pace is too erratic and often too fast for most people. Before high school I was often found on my bicycle or in front of a television. I was only found walking when my bicycle couldn't be ridden. Usually after some really bizarre accident.
We lived on a corner lot and I had this annoying habit of not looking before I came barrelling out on my bicycling. Since the side street had almost no traffic, my actions were reinforced more often than not.
I am now a landlord and I sometimes get young people in who believe they always pay on time even when their payment history is horrible. It seems to be a matter of perception. I am told that there are many versions of an auto accident. There are all the versions from the witnesses and then there is a whole other version which describes what actually happened.
One fine day found me barrelling out of the driveway into the side fender of some poor fellows car. My fight or flight reaction resulted in flight and I rode back into the yard then into the house and straight to my room. The confused driver knocked on our back door and my next older sister answered it.
"I think I just hit your brother on a bicycle," he exclaimed. To which my sister deadpanned, "Oh, that's okay. It happens all the time." Then she closed the door. I certainly hope that guy remembers this story as fondly as I do.
Safety Deposit Boxes
What are They?
I know what safety is, but I'm watching Fringe tonight and they keep speaking of Safety Deposit Boxes. Now. I know that banks often keep deposit boxes in a safe, but those are called Safe Deposit Boxes. They are boxes which are deposited in a safe.
While I was writing this, I realized that a Safety is a position on a football team. I just don't understand why anyone would store a deposit box inside a football player, but this is Fringe after all.
While I was writing this, I realized that a Safety is a position on a football team. I just don't understand why anyone would store a deposit box inside a football player, but this is Fringe after all.
Here's my favorite link:
My Mom
Stories about Mom and Me
Mom is my other hero. She was a Registered Nurse with a great health plan from the hospital where she worked. She had no idea how often I would require the use of their emergency room. No. She sure didn't that!
She taught me a lot about respect and about patience. I jokingly refer to her Prude Factor. The closer you get to her the cleaner you vocabulary becomes. Suddenly you can't curse to save your life. I swear it's true. She has rendered sailors completely speechless simply by being on the room.
She taught me a lot about respect and about patience. I jokingly refer to her Prude Factor. The closer you get to her the cleaner you vocabulary becomes. Suddenly you can't curse to save your life. I swear it's true. She has rendered sailors completely speechless simply by being on the room.
- She Knew
When I was young man it was not uncommon for me to call home for money or a ride or a trip to the emergency room. Many times the person taking the call was Mom and it was necessary to tell her a long drawn out story about something or another.
I have only a high school education and some college. Some college meaning I passed a few easy courses and a few math courses because I could get by those without doing the homework. I believe I have a passing grade in Bowling. My Dad was an AMF employee for years and I know more about bowling alleys than I care to tell. Suffice it to say the first time I went to work with Dad as a young boy I helped rebuild a pin setter. Bowling is like breathing. But I digress.
I was away at college and feeling a bit lonely so I called Mom and we talked for a while. During the conversation I made some very dry remark which escapes me now. My Mom went on with the conversation without missing a beat. I get my sense of humor form my Dad who is dry enough to empty the Mississippi River.
Being very prideful of my wit, I tried to explain to my mother about my earlier comment, when my mother abruptly interrupted me, "I know what you meant, Charles. I am married to your father." The last time they came to Texas to visit me I understood exactly what she meant. He and I are like two pees in a very dry pod.
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I own a small mobile home park, love to read and to argue philosophy.
I do some web programming and am a mediocre web designer.
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