As a very young boy the first concrete swimming pool ( as we used to say ) I ever saw was a picture in a Sears Roebuck catalog advertising swimwear. In my neck of the woods your introduction to serious water was either the swamp, rivers, White Lake or the ocean. That was unless you knew about Butler Mill Hole.

Butler Mill Hole was an eight acre natural pond located about one mile from our home. It was surrounded by large oaks and Loblolly pines. The banks were high enough allowing you to do your version of a Tarzan yell before hitting the water. Everyone had the same swimming attire, cut off blue jeans ( fashionable before our time) that were hung on a tree limb to dry. In the very middle of the pond was a large oak tree stump which became the commemorative rostrum upon you successfully completing the task at hand. Your badge of honor among the ten or so BMH gang was one’s ability to jump off the bank and make your way to the large stump. Your swimming technique did not matter as long as you could make it to the stump and back. For me, dog paddling was my confidence stroke. As adventurous as we were, the older and stronger swimmers would act as lifeguards. There were times beginners needed assistance but no one ever drowned. After a few weeks and swallowing several gallons of water I graduated to the forward crawl.

Feeling as though I had conquered the world in my exuberance there lay two obstacles that slipped my mind. My middle sister and of course my mom. The middle sister who will remain nameless ( I do love her) mission in life was to throw me under the bus at every opportunity, especially with our mom. ” Mom, guess who went swimming at Butler Mill Hole today”? I could never figure out how my sister knew I had been to BMH until one day the light bulb went off. When I came home from swimming my hair looked like Alfalfa from the Little Rascals T.V. (worth a Google) show. From that day on a small comb became a part of my wardrobe.

As my mom would administer my punishment I can still recall her words of wisdom to me,” What have I told you about going into deep water before you learn to swim”. Today I am sure there are some concrete ponds (ha) in my small hometown, but if not I’ll bet Butler Mill Hole still exists.

Be safe

For the millennials, ” whuppings ” is the term that was used in my youth for a whipping and/or a spanking. In my day bumper stickers were not an “in thing”, but if they had been the following would have been the most popular. ” Spare the rod and spoil the child”. Proverbs 13:24. Just got an atta boy and amen from my mom.

Today’s world puts a totally different connotation on discipline than what was the norm in the fifties, at least at our house. Just saying if you ” messed ” up right now ( 2024) you might lose the gameboy control for two days, car privileges for a week, and God forbid loss of the cell phone. The cell phone discipline can result in panic attacks, shallow breathing, a cold sweat, and being ostracized by your peers for not commenting on a current TikTok post. Allow me to take you ” back to the fifties when yours truly was the “posterboy” for ” whuppings”. I have a top five list Netflix is interested in ( haha), but I will share only one this blog. More to follow.

You never ever misbehaved at church. There were times even the preacher would interrupt his sermon and call down a rowdy child. More times than one did my peeps and I hit the floor as the parents turned to see who he was referring too. After being caught redhanded in church, I am reminded what a good athlete my mom was. She could pivot three-hundred and sixty degrees, while reciting bible verses and spanking me the whole time. My middle sister who threw me under the bus more than once would become prophetic with a sheepish grin, ” Ma, he said can you just spank him without the preaching”? I did double down with that comment. Yes, listen more and talk less.

As I sit here smiling to myself for ALL the crazy things I did growing up there is resolve for that discipline. Many years later I realized the motive behind my mom’s actions. ” Son, as a loving mother every time I am forced to punish you it hurts me more than it hurts you, let it be a lesson for life”. And it has.

Be safe.

Several years ago ( or maybe more) I would tell my wife, ” I met the nicest Senior Citizen today”. Now at eighty-two years of age guess who has become that Senior Citizen several years over. Hopefully nice is thrown into the conversation if referring to me.

Last year when I turned eighty-two my neighbor asked me, ” If I could take ten years off my life would I do it”? Without hesitation I said “No”. Like most people my life has been a series of “ups” and “downs”. Many of the ups were predictable and many were unpredictable. Suffice to say many of the downs were predictable and many were unpredictable. One of the many downs was I should have talked less and listened more. One of the many ups is a loveing family and friends.

If you are pondering the “ten year” question maybe thats a good thing—or then again maybe not. Why was I so quick to say “no”? At eighty- two I am very content with my life. Sure, winning the lottery would be nice, but I would probably give most of the money away. My health has taken some bumps in the road but that is being handled, Of course the world is divided and upside down,in more ways than I care to discuss, but there is little I can do to correct that ( except a little prayer for better things to come).

The bible says,” Faith, love and hope are the greatest gifts and love is the greatest of these”. Not one to contradict the bible, but in todays world AR15’s and Glock 9’s have replaced love with hate and violence. I gladly accept my eighty-two years of age and HOPE in the near future LOVE can substitute hate. Of course you have to have the third ingredent to make it all happen FAITH. Then if my neighbor poses the question again, my answer may be “Yes”.

Be safe.

Not sure I understood what the term “wingman” meant until Tom Cruise’s mega hit movie “Top Gun” came out. Of course in the movie The Iceman ran interference for Cruise while he shot down all the bad guys. For me the term simply means someone who has your back in good times as well as bad times.

As fate would have it my “wingman” turned out to be a boy that lived across the dirt road from my grandparents and we never met until the seventh grade. Billy Curtis in a strange happenstance came into my life as more of a guardian angel than two seventh graders meeting for the first time. Not saying I was a discipline problem in the seventh grade, but there were times I did cross the line. One day at recess ( yes young folks back then even the inmates got a recess) I was nose to nose with a bully over some silly misunderstanding. Just before things got physical I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. Billy Curtis stepped in the middle and looked both of us down. That was my first encounter with my future “wingman”. President Theodore Roosevelt once said, ” Speak softly and carry a big stick and you will go far”. Billy Curtis sort of epitomized that quote for the duration of our friendship.

From that day through high school we did everything together. He was my educational mentor (which I desperately needed), my teammate, and my confident. After high school we took different paths, Billy Curtis off to private employment and me off to college. Even though we took different directions we still maintained the friendship for years to come.

My friend fell into poor health years ago and finally passed in the height of Covid. It hurt that I could not be there to pay my last respects, but Covid restrictions limited the ceremony to family only. The day of his funeral I could only think back to the sixty plus years of friendship with him. I remember in particular the seventh grade when my “wingman” put his big hand on my shoulder and reminded me to “walk softly”.

Be safe

Hope I am not infringing on any of Jelly Roll’s copyright laws editing his smash hit “God I Need A Favor”. Young reader alert!!! This blog may push your ” boring button” at first but give it a quick read. Why? Because wheather high school, college, or young professional you will be paying for the 2024′ election year for decades in more ways than taxes and the cost of living. The political horizon today is worst than having wisdom teeth removed, but I do agree our world is imploding both literally and physically. Since Baptists do not bet (haha) I will wager you a pound of Hendrix barbcue on the following. Research the last four presidential and congressional elections to compare the verbage. Does this ring a bell,” I will clean up the swamp in DC, reduce taxes, secure the border, provide health coverage for all, fix the economy and bring world peace”. P.T. Barnum an American showman made the comment, ” There’s a sucker born every minute”. If you buy the verbage in the political promises today maybe old P.T. has hit it out of the park.

How about some boring facts. Congress’ approval rating among U.S. citizens is 13% and falling faster than the national debt is rising, Congress has become an old age nursing home where they live in luxury at the expense of the tax payers, and tougher to remove than a tick off a junkyard dog. For me it boils down to one factor, ideology. No matter how right or how wrong it is very difficult to change a person’s ideology. It’s kind of like the Bible we cherry pick the verses we like and leave a lot of the good stuff to other people. You know the old saying, ” talk to the hand”. One last thought on career politicans, Congress gets an automatic raise every year wheather they want it or not. Research the net worth of an incoming politican and their net worth after serving several terms. Wish my retirement was that lucrative.

A wise man once said,” there are three things you do not ask about, marriage, religion, and politics”. Well, since you asked, 40/50% of marriages fail, churh membership in the last decade is down 50%, and politics maybe the next civil war.

The medical profession has advised me adult beveages with all the medications I take are not recommended. However, with all the current and future political ad’s we will have to bear Alan Jackson’s hit song “It’s Five O’clock Somewhere” is pretty spot on.

Be safe.

A few days ago I found myself staring at our brown Bermuda grass in the front yard. Of course it was dormant and like me waiting for warmer weather. It seems like yesterday when I was a stickler for winter rye and the warmth of green grass during the winter. Strange how age and Mother Nature can kick your butt when it comes to yard care and other things.

In somewhat of a hypnotic state of mind staring at the yard I was reminded of our small front yard in my small hometown in Eastern N.C. Not even age or Mother Nature could erase the vivid memories of that small patch of land that became my personal playground.

To begin with, there was no grass and a town owned drainage ditch ran down the middle of the front yard. At the time I would challenge the best agronomist at N.C. State to grow a stand of grass surrounded by huge Loblolly pines, a large Maple and a Chinaberry tree. A side note of the Chinaberry tree. It produced a small berry that today the U.S. Department of Agriculture has declared an invasive species. The berry if ingested can be poisonous. I always wondered why the Blue Jays would eat the berries and fall to the ground in a drunken stupor.

So, how did one tend to the front yard to meet the standards of the HOA ( haha) , you raked it. Yes Louise, I said raked it. The yard was composed mostly of small gravel rocks and black soil (Southern for dirt). The pine needles were great for banking Azaleas, but the acidity was disastrous for grasses. The tool of choice was a metal leaf rake that would catapult the pine needles three to four feet depending on man power. When raking carful attention was given to the section where tag, marble games, hopscotch, or hitting rocks with a tobacco stick took place. If you fell during tag, a scraped knee was a badge of honor. And, not once was anyone called down and told to put their cell phone away ( Again haha).

The old homeplace was sold a few years ago and is in need of repairs, but at last accounts My Playground was still rocks, black soil and memories. Simple life simple pleasures.

Be safe

“Without change nothing happens”. Probably just like you ,Thanksgiving has become the gateway to Christmas. In my youth ( yes, I was young once) the Thanksgiving feast was an event separate and apart from Christmas. Now fast forward to the twenty-first century. Yes Agnes, most of my family has their Christmas trees up and burning brightly and Turkey Day is days away. I must confess our Charlie Brown tree is up and the Star of Bethlehem is shinning brightly.

Admittedly, at eighty plus years of age decorations on the tree are like a time traveler hurtling through space. Even though we have cut back drastically on our decorations each has a memory when it is placed on the tree. Some of those memories go back decades and others are as recent as last Christmas. Like life these decorations speak of love, heart break, tears and laughter. Elvis Presley had a hit song, ” Memories”. One of the lyrics says, ” memories pressed between the pages of my mind”. So spot on.

A few years ago I posted a blog explaining how this old guy handles the stress of Christmas. Its very simple, find you a comfy chair near your tree with your beverage of choice, put on The Carpenters or Buble’ and ” count your lights”. Between the lights and decorations each is symbolic of a loved one, a memory, or maybe a quite prayer of thanks. There are lights that burn brighter than others, but it is not the illumination only the memory. There are no guidelines when counting your lights. The gamut could range from a medical trauma that almost took a loved one, or Angel wings that speak softly to you, or the loss of a nineteen year old four legged house guest that became family. Your light, your choice.

Warning! As you get settled in to ” count your lights” take a few Kleenex, you will end up laughing until you cry. Remember, ” without change nothing happens”. Maybe change is as simple as lights on a Christmas tree. Look what happened to the Grinch.

Happy Holidays–Be Safe.

Decembeer 29th. 1953. It was four days after Christmas and there was still excitement in the air. Children were riding their Schwinn bikes and pulling their Radio Flyer wagons up and down the street. Talk of a better 1954 filled the soda shop at Bridgers Drug Store. The mill was running three shifts and all was well. However, by mid-day the complexion of our town totally changed. There was shocking news of dogs and farm animals having been discovered decapitated and in some instances the blood had been sucked out of their carcass. Thus the saga of The Beast of Bladenboro had begun.

For the next thirteen days Bladenboro N.C. became the talking points for television and newspapers. What was this strange creature lurking in the swamps of this small Eastern N.C. town? The dawning of each day filled the town with more animal kills and sightings of a large creature with black piercing eyes and the sound of eerie screams that filled the night air. At night doors were locked and shades were pulled. Farm animals that usually were free to roam were locked in barns and dogs were brought inside to avoid possible encounters with whatever was terrorizing the town. If you had to venture to the outhouse after dark a shotgun went with you.

Hunters with their dogs were coming from near and far in an attempt to hunt the creature down. It was a carnival atmosphere. On January 5th. 1954, five hundred people turned out to hunt down and rid Bladenboro of the creature, but to no avail. One hunter from Wilmington said, ” We tracked it for three miles before the dogs lost it’s scent”. January 6th. 1954, eight hundred people turned out all bearing arms ready for whatever the beast had to offer. Sheriff Roy Fores was afraid this was too dangerous and called the hunt off.

I was twelve years old at the time and my imagination was running wild. There I was standing ready with my Daisy Red Ryder BB gun ( you know guys, like the one Ralphie had in the movie The Christmas Story). As fate would have it, on January 11th. 1954 the killing stopped. As life returned to normal the barking of dogs in the night made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, had it returned?

What ever the beast was, it was never found. There were rumors of large bobcats, cougars, and wolf’s being killed, but none fitted the description of what witness’ had experienced. The Beast of Bladenboro left this small town with a legend that to this day has not been solved. Could it return? Who knows what secrets the deep bowels of the nearby swamps hold. When old timers are asked that question they smile, but their eyes say, ” maybe”.

Be safe.