First memory and being gullible...

For the last few years, I have tried to realize what my first memory is. At a tender age of four or so, remembering vivid details of something is hard to do and all my thoughts seem to point to one particular memory: Running around the house in nothing but my birthday suit and a smile. At the age of four, one thing is apparent: We are so very gullible and will do anything if the price is right! So, we have a bet. A can of pop and a Snickers is waged by my brother. All I have to do is run around the house without clothes. Pfft! Simple! I run around the house as fast as I can, hitting every room on the way. I get back in record time, heart racing and the thought of a Snickers makes my mouth water. Life is going to be so good! Earlier that day, I had a ketchup sandwich. Yes, a ketchup sandwich. We were poor. We were poor to the point that my oldest brothers moved in with our Grandma to ease the burden on my parents. I know poor. He used to be my friend I knew him so well. Snickers + Pop= happiness beyond all comprehension.

Then the catch rears its ugly head. Always a catch! Frick! There can’t be a catch. No way! A catch could cost me my new-found friends: Coke and Snickers. Apparently, I didn’t do a good enough job listening since I couldn’t hear over my stomach’s rumbling. Around the OUTSIDE of the house! Uh, wait a minute. I look at my brother like he just stole my birthday, hung it over my head and then flushed it down the toilet. I felt a slight lump in my throat. How dare he! I control myself and agree to the new terms. I open the door and then a sad realization hits me: It is freaking January! We have a foot of snow on the ground and I think the weather guy on the TV said it was twelve degrees out. Twelve freaking degrees outside?? I see my prize sitting on the table and I know what I must do. I have to run. I have to run like dogs are chasing me. Snow on the ground and all, but I don’t care at this point. I am hauling ass! The cold is unbearable beyond comprehension. I can’t believe I am doing it! I make the first right turn and I can taste the chocolate goodness. After the next turn, I know the Coke is in sight. I run harder and realize that my feet are slipping and sliding in the snow. I don’t care now. I just have to make it. I see what’s left of a tree that my dad cut down. I think fast and try to dodge it, but my body and feet weren’t on the same page. CRASH! I slide face first in the snow. My unmentionables are now colder than anything I have ever felt. I will myself up and make the final dash for the door. As I round the corner, my mom pulls in the driveway.

I am so dead. I can hear her cussing in the car. I don’t stop; I keep running to the door and straight for the table. Oblivious to the level of pissed off that my mom is, I hit the table and look up: it’s gone. I’ve been suckered. Mom comes in still cussing and screaming at me and then my brother. The whole time she is cussing him out, he drinks MY Coke and Snickers while I sit next to the fireplace to warm back up.

Why a blog? Good Question! I don't know.

First, I am not Frank Sinatra. I wanted an alias because I don't want people to know who is writing this blog. I enjoy Frank's music, so there you go

So, with that....

After a mind-boggling twelve minutes of deliberation, I have decided to write a blog. I know everyone has a blog. And I mean everyone. Hell, if Moses was here today, he wouldn’t have stone tablets, he would have a blog. His site would be something like www.mosesandthebloggedcommandments.com or something to that effect. The point I am absurdly making is that everyone blogs about something; war, TV shows, their little life among the masses. So, I am no different. I have no desire to make this something more than it is. I just want to write again.

I used to love to write when I was younger. The mere thought of writing a little story was enough to make me smile and imagine what the story would be. What the characters’ personality would mold into and how they would interact with other players in the story. Who could I tag as the antagonist? Who would be the hero? What would I use as the common bond that linked the two as they conflict with each other during the story? Those are the things I loved to do as a little boy in Western Kansas with only a horse and a field to peer at. Twenty-five years later, I am going to try to do this again. This time, I won’t stop because the actors in my mind found common ground from where they could settle their differences. In fact, these stories won’t be fictional tales where a climax and resolution must take place so the story may end happily, but these are stories about my life and drawn from my memories of a rough but wonderful childhood through to my current life.

Disclaimer: Everything written here is directly from memory. Names will be changed if necessary. Do not try some of this at home. Expired coupons not accepted. Donations accepted. Bribery encouraged. Play nice.