In light of recent blog discourse, I thought a short story might be good for some perspective. Settle in and take a short ride with me. Grab a beverage.
It’s hard to read people’s emotions. We often jump to conclusions, become offended, when no harm was intended. Sometimes we are right, and a lot of the time we’re wrong. It’s even more difficult to read people’s intentions in the written word, over the internet. We can’t see their faces, gauge sarcasm, or see into THEIR room — maybe someone called or rang the doorbell, and that’s why they gave a short snippy response. With age comes wisdom, and we learn 99% of out-of-left-field offensive comments have NOTHING to do with our actions. It’s almost always………, something else.
Add to this problem, our own personal baggage. Our personal history creates a prism, through which we view the world. For instance, as a teenager, I was astonished Mexican gas stations did not have toilet paper……… just as the Mexican gas station attendant presumed I was a spoiled little American. Ahhhh, yes, it’s all about perspective.
When I first met Big T, he was itchy and jumpy, nervous as a cat. It was obvious, but he only did it around me. In a business meeting, he was cool as a cucumber. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made men nervous before, but this was not normal “guy stuff”. He constantly tried to read my emotions to see if I was “about to be” angry. It was weird, and it takes a LOT to make me angry. He was fishing for my emotions and I wondered why.
I quickly learned his ex-wife was an artist, high strung, overly emotional. On top of that, he had 4 daughters and WAY too much estrogen in his house. I realized he was an incredibly successful man, at the pinnacle of his career…… and had been walking on eggshells for about 2 decades (we all know what that feels like). He had been conditioned to react to her, to try to get ahead of the blow-up, and control it as much as possible. He needed deprogramming. He needed to calm down.
On my side of the “personal baggage” fence, I came from a highly male-dominated business world. Most women my age expected their husbands to read their minds when they were angry. They would sulk, slam cabinets, say the word “fine”, and expect their husband’s to know what was wrong, apologize for hurt feelings, and all would be right with the world. I was exactly the opposite. If I was angry, I told the person, asap. In less than five minutes, I would explain my position, extract an apology or identify the miscommunication, we would agree to re-order our world…….. and move on. An hour later, I couldn’t tell you the subject of the scuffle. Thus, my personality, when dealing with controversy and confrontation, was about 180 degrees opposite of Big T’s ex-wife, ….. and it took him some time to get used to it.
The first time he came to my house, Big T tried to open the back door with a whole platter of my grandmother’s crystal. It’s a big back door and rather tricky. He dropped the platter and broke a few stems. He overreacted, and it looked like he was convinced I would break up with him. “Are you kidding me?”, I said, “There’s no glass in this house which is more important than the people living in the house.” He looked at me like I had three heads. He was confused. And there it is again…. perspective.
On our first trip together, we went to Aunt Helen’s for Thanksgiving. When he arrived, he assumed Aunt Helen lived across town, at most, an hour away. No, Aunt Helen lived in Illinois, nine hours away. Big T worked himself into a frenzy. Putting him into the car was like stuffing a cat in a bag, as though he thought he would not survive the trip. He was practically convinced we would divorce before we would be married. NINE hours in the car???!!!!! Of course, no one in the northeast drives anywhere longer than about 6 hours — because nothing exists outside of the northeast. Road trips, in his personal history, with his ex + her emotions + four daughters + baggage, were an exhausting nightmare. He had reason to be apprehensive.
On my side, road trips were a blast, half the fun was getting there. 14 hours to Universal, sure. 9 hours to Chicago, piece of cake. 5 hours to New Orleans, bop down for a weekend. Want to go to Canada, say the word and we’re gone. Mexico, pack some shorts are we’re ready for Cerveza and chicken tacos. Pack a cooler, make some ham sandwiches and off we go. Seriously, going to the grocery store is often an adventure for me.
Our viewpoints, our baggage, our prisms from which we viewed the world, were completely different and the two of us had to get on the same page. He kept waiting for me to get mad, and I wasn’t mad about anything. He was befuddled, but still convinced, since I was a redhead, whenever I did “blow”, it would be epic. Our differences culminated over a laundry incident. The laundry PI$$ED me off, and I blew. Perfect timing.
By the time Big T bought the beach cottage, we were an item. The cottage had laundry in the basement. Since I own a B&B, I was used to doing 80 loads of laundry a week. As such, it’s not a stretch to say, I am certified “expert witness”, put me on a stand in a jury trial, when it comes to laundry. I am a mad scientist of laundry, often inventing my own chemical solutions to remove various stains, etc. Yes, Laundry is my wheelhouse, and his daughters often brought contractor bags of laundry for me to mend, wash, iron, and “fix”. Poor babies, they needed help, and a re-education on how to run a household. Because of my prism, my baggage, I am completely unreasonable and overly demanding, when it comes to laundry for a household.
The stage was set.
So, I was in the basement one day, and the washing machine pi$$ed me off. I can’t tell you what happened, or what the washing machine did to personally offend me. Yet, I came out of the basement with a full head of steam. I was a veritable dust cloud of rage. It was epic, alright. I was cursing, four-letter words streaming – odd for me too, because of southern lady protocol and composure. I was grumbling and growling between the cursing, frowning an scowling at the same time.

Big T must have heard my foul mouth, and it triggered him. The moment had arrived, he thought, she’s mad. This is it. By the time I reached the basement door, he flung the door open and scared the heck out of me. I was embarrassed, but the look on his face was sheer fright. He was wide-eyed and backing up. He began to apologize and assured me we could buy a new washing machine this afternoon (purchased new and cheap but it came with the house)….. a dryer too, if that would make me happy. He was talking fast.
Huh?, I thought. And I looked at him like he had three heads……. Again, there’s that perspective thing……
We settled into the kitchen peninsula to talk. His body language was fixed, he was ready for a fight. He was still anxious and I was still mad at the washing machine. I explained, I didn’t want a new washing machine. My anger had nothing whatsoever to do with him, I was mad at a piece of equipment. If he loved me, I wanted him to be MAD, just as mad, if not MORE mad, at the washing machine which pi$$ed me off. I wanted him to be on my side, and that meant more to me than anything. I wanted him to yell at the washing machine, kick the washing machine, defend me from the washing machine. I fu$king hated that washing machine at that particular moment in time. I was ranting…… at a machine. Not at him.

Then, as I am prone to do, I flipped a switch. I dropped several octaves/decibels and explained it would be fiscally irresponsible to buy a new washing machine. Nah, I dismissed it. And just like that, I wasn’t mad anymore. Big T was amazed…… like he had just seen the Grand Canyon for the first time.
The realization creeped over his face. He was thinking. She’s not mad at me. It’s not my fault. She really is just mad at the washing machine. It had nothing to do with him. As long as we kept that house, we referred to the washing machine as “the fucking washing machine”……. and we laughed about it. Months later, me calling Big T, “Hi honey, whatcha doin’?” From Big T, “Oh, I’m down in the basement talking to the fucking washing machine.” Haaaaa – ha.

The laundry incident was groundbreaking in our relationship. Over the afternoon and into the next day, Big T wouldn’t let it go. It kept worming around in his head. He slowly began to realize, a LOT of what happened over the last two decades, with his ex, with his children, had nothing to do with him. He was desperately trying to maintain order within the chaos. Rationally, he knew it all along, but the reality had not hit him…. until we BOTH got mad at the washing machine. From then on, we were on the same side, the same “team” heretofore unknown to him. It was us against the world.
Perspective…… it is a glorious thing.
Within this blog, we are all united in a common cause. We’re on the same side, the same team. It’s us against our political and sometimes moral opposition. Our loyalty is the same – to our country and each other. We may fight, bicker, and differ on occasion. There’s no couple on the planet who agrees 100% of the time. After all, when Big T and I go out to eat, we don’t order the same entre….. but he will give me a bite…. he’s so sweet.
But know this, for certain, if an outside force looks to harm us, offends you/me/anyone here, we will defend each other. It’s natural instinct. If it gets serious, in fact, I WILL DRAW MY SWORD to slay, spindle, mutilate, the fucking washing machine if necessary….. cuz we’re on the same side. But harking back to our perspective……, sometimes, it’s really just a washing machine.
Just remember……… we’re on the same side.
End.

 
 
 

daughnworks247July 7, 2019 at 13:53

Husband’s response when I read him the date of the plea deal 9/27/2007, juxtaposed against date of 10/31/2007, whereby all of the witnesses had not even been interviewed as yet. —- “This was a bag job from way on high.”

———————————-

Bob Mueller was Director of the FIB at the time (2001 – 2013).

Bob Mueller….

…who Adam Schiff has subpoena’d to testify in open committee before the House Intelligence Committee, coming up on July 17.

Look at the TIMING of this new Epstein arrest. Hmmmm.

Now…

Imagine Jim Jordan on July 17 questioning Bob Mueller UNDER OATH…

“Mr. Mueller, did you have any involvement whatsoever, of ANY kind, with the Jefferey Epstein pedophile and sex slave case while you were the acting Director of the FBI? If so, please tell us the degree and to what extent you were involved.”

Remember, Mueller & Co. have convicted and jailed people for lying under oath to Congress. (See: Gen. Flynn, etc)

We’ll know that whoever asks that question is hitting paydirt when the democrats ERUPT and demand Mueller not answer the question and this line of questioning is out of order.

Schiff & Co. will be all…..”This has nothing to do with the Mueller investigation of President Trump!! It is not germane to the issue at hand!!”

At which point the rejoinder simply is….”Of course it is germane, as it is directly related to the witness’ integrity and character, which democrats presently contend is unimpeachable. Moreover, the public has a right to know, esp. given the recent arrest of Mr. Epstein for crimes committed during the time Mr. Mueller was Director of the FBI.”

Game. Set. Match.

Fellow patriots….I postulate that THIS is why the Epstein case is rearing it’s head once again, with 10 days to go before Mueller’s scripted testimony in open session before the House Intelligence Committee (chaired by the vile, disgusting weasel Adam “Bug Eyes” Schiff).

Byw….

Note the word “presently” in the title to this piece. There are many targets, of which Mueller is but one.

Pedophilia and sex slavery is the key that ties all these corrupt democrats together (See: Harvey Weinstein), and it the means by which all credibility of them will be removed.

BTW #2…..don’t forget that Adam “pencil neck” Schiff….chair of the HIC….is himself implicated in all this pedo crap!

.

“When all is said and done these people won’t be able to walk the streets in safety.” -Q

My 21yr old son, Gunner, was talkative last night. For over three hours, moving through topics with the greatest of ease, he drifted from gun ownership, to Antifa, to cheating in college, dating in the age of feminism, the hiring process, Russian submarine disaster, big tech, Microsoft versus Linux systems, H1B visas, and Fed Monetary Policy…. along with a LOT of anecdotal engineering (his discipline) stories thrown into the mix. He was animated and persuasive. Mostly, Big T and I listened.
Understand, my husband, when in law school, placed 2nd nationally for mock trial and was a Boston trial lawyer for 23yrs = highly verbal. I was a statewide debate and extemporaneous speaking champ = highly verbal. You have to FIGHT to get a word in edgewise in our house, AND with four stepsisters, Gunner had plenty of competition. Last night, however, he took the floor. When he went to bed, I was left…….. impressed. Kind of like that moment when you see your kids as an adult – it’s spooky.
He’s going to be fine. As far as his readiness to enter the real world, he’s like a casserole with only 5 minutes left on the oven timer….. almost done…. bubbling with possibilities……. and the delicious aroma of his potential makes my mouth water with anticipation.
During the conversation last night, my son expressed concern about various particular students and their struggles with money…. not the pizza and beer money…. but the money for an apartment/dorm, tuition and books. He wondered why they did not have scholarships or plan their future …. more prudently. Objectively, he acknowledged his viewpoint may be unfair, because our family was extremely focused on paying for college, both in saving money and applying for scholarships. Many families are not so keen to the idea. He didn’t however, think it was an excuse for the students, who are ultimately responsible. In his opinion, “Who the hell signs onto a $200K debt or committment with no plan to pay it back?” He couldn’t understand why more students did not hunt and apply for scholarships to ease their financial burden.
We’re not talking about average students either. These are kids over a 30 Composite on the ACT and in the 700’s on SAT’s. These are the kids who should have many scholarships and be in honor societies, no reason not to have them. He reasoned, if they worked so hard to excel in their studies, they should have thought more about the expense of college. To be reasonable however, some of them came from less fortunate families, or are first in their family to attend a university.
One of Gunner’s best friends, Kenny (not his real name) is a black male with super-high test scores. Kenny is an academic unicorn – a rare treasure, and my son loves him like he’s his own brother. Kenny had to drop out of college, flunked out, because he could not handle the social pressures, a Chem major, and the physical requirements of ROTC. In my son’s opinion, “The world needs guys like Kenny and we’re ALL worse off because Kenny didn’t make it.” My son emphatically stated, “If Kenny had been in our family, his real brother, with support, little bit of discipline, and consequences, Kenny would have finished successfully.” Unfortunately, Kenny had no one to count on, and no one to whom an answer was required. My son was correct, however, we all are worse off because of the failure.
The real reason Kenny failed = Kenny just wanted to be popular, for once, and not the egghead. Kenny partied too much….. flunked out…… and now works light construction…. when he can find work. Once full of hope, a provost scholar, and a rising star, Kenny is now desolate, no longer welcome in his mother’s home. It’s his own fault and he knows it. Tough lesson to learn…..lots of time and opportunity…… lost.
Again, our feeble attempt at solutions came back to finances, scholarships, and stability/security knowing the bills would be paid, even while on academic probation,….. and not overly burdensome upon graduation. To avoid the social pressures, Gunner suggested a stronger honor society, more work programs at school, friendships and mentoring, adopt-a-parent who will listen, within that group, to encourage good practices….., and a home cooked meal every now and then, instead of $1 shots on a Tuesday night. I know – I know, they’re supposed to be adults by age 18….. right?
And then, Gunner referred back to the FRC Scholarship problem, and how few applications were submitted, and what a mess the scholarship process has become. I nodded and remembered the fights and time spent on the process. It’s true, and I was dumbstruck by the low response for scholarship applications on a national level.
Here’s my story:
Gunner was in 9th grade. Our school had a little robotics team, first year, small robot, and a mini-grant for it, with a Robotics Advisor who actually stood up in church and said, “Technology is the Great Satan” Nahhhhh, it didn’t go over well with the kids. He also had a bad habit of looking down the girl’s blouses… for decades. In their first regional competition, they came in dead last— and landed at our house to graze food and organize a parent pickup. The boys, all of whom I had known since they were two years old, were furious and humiliated. I had never seen them so angry, and all angry at the same time. I asked them if they hated robotics and/or the competition, or if they were only angry because they didn’t know what they were doing. Unanimous vote, they wanted to stay, and win, AND be competent. Well then….. we had work to do.
Big T and I got involved in a major way. Team won state championship and placed #11/389 nationally in Orlando, and won the leadership award = big trophy we brought home. From 9th grade, with their success, the kids wanted to continue to another bigger team in 10th grade – but no advisor, no team, no nothing. Can’t take it away now, they were on a roll. We looked for options.
FRC was the granddaddy of robotics. They have thousands of teams all over the world. Their national championships are held in places like the Edward Jones Dome in St Louis or something like the Superdome in New Orleans, with teams from over 50 countries. It’s a big deal. The Black Eyed Peas played for halftime about 7yrs ago. Okay, sounds good, right? Gunner thought that was what we needed and I agreed. Why not? Yet, it’s expensive to buy in, $7-10K for first robot “kit” and a lot of manpower, facility to meet, tools to assemble, etc. I was convinced I could talk ex-husband into being the mentor, we just had to find the money.
Gunner learned NASA provides about 10 grants a year for FRC. Alrighty then, we had to win a grant……. a NASA grant….. among thousands who would compete. Big T wrote the first grant but it sounded like “Cause for War Declaration in the Middle East” – highly technical and boring. Gunner re-wrote (I helped) the grant and we won! We won a NASA grant, made the front page of the local paper. We also won another grant for a smaller robot for the Jr High, to mentor younger students and develop a “bench”. One thing led to another, Gunner became an Ambassador for NASA, manager of several pit crews (they have robotic pit crews like NASCAR), we traveled like crazy, and the advisor to NASA tucked us under his wing. Good guy to know. He changed my son’s life…..
Along the way, the USA Southeast Regional Chairwoman presumed I was somehow her competitor, …..smelled me breathing heavy at her heels. Huh??? She decided to throw me a bone and made me the Regional “Scholarship Chairman” for about 7 states and about 4500-6000 kids. I was honored, but clueless to her animosity…. never saw it coming. The kids were great, though! These students were science/tech focused, high performers, supported by their parents enough for travel and an expensive extra-curricular. She threw me a ‘Scholarship manual’ and a “Good luck with that”, and walked away. She dissed me out of the blue. I was blind-sided but miffed. Note taken. Payback is a bitch.
The guys and students worked on robots for months. Big T, the lawyer, who never touched so much as a weedeater before he met me, learned ALL ABOUT electrical wiring and socket wrenches with my ex-husband, the general contractor, who was at home in his wheelhouse. Oh my,   …… what a travel team they were. I gave them both credit to rise to the occasion for the kids. It was dicey at times. Me to Big T, “Honey, does it feel a little awkward checking into a hotel with my ex-husband?” His response, “Yeah, ya’ think?” That man is a blessing. At least they had different rooms.
Meanwhile, I dug into my new FRC volunteer position while working on the stone company and B&B. For good or bad, my personality is the very embodiment of a self-starter. With a little bit of authority, I can be dangerous….. but I am a benevolent dictator. Now, I was a Scholarship Chairman….. and I ran with it.
The kids on OUR team, we had about 50 by then, knew FRC offered 26 million dollars in scholarships at 168 top notch universities. Our kids were desperately looking for scholarships. Since we’re next door to the school, kids landed in my office (or kitchen) after school all the time, to talk about their future dreams, hopes, college, etc. My job was to connect student and university. Of course, Gunner was interested in obtaining a possible scholarship, BUT the program was a mess.
All that money, 26 million dollars, for kids who desperately needed it, and no easy way to connect them. After a few phone calls, I figured out the list was outdated, old contacts, bad phone numbers, etc. First thing to do was update the list — so I called 168 universities — and boy-oh-boy were they surprised to hear from me. Vast majority had not received a contact from our org in years. MOST were disappointed at the number of applications for scholarships their university was offering. Texas A&M reported 4 applications last year. Ga Tech, 7 applications and most unqualified. Brandeis, Cornell, NYU, UPenn, MIT, Lehigh, to Cal Poly, and Caltech, on and on it went.
The college admissions execs were keen for good applicants. They WANTED our kids. They wanted to figure out an easier way to get to the pool of our kids. Yet, if the scholarship is for electrical engineering, they didn’t want a humanities major to apply. The admissions officers were a little frustrated as well. We needed better matching of kid to scholarship and a higher profile for the program. “Okay sure”, I thought. I can do that!
Sooooooooo, I invited all 168 schools to our big regional in New Orleans for 3 days, and set up space for a college recruitment “row”. I printed elaborate invitations and followed up personally with phone calls. I didn’t ask for permission beforehand, but waited until I had 28 universities, with hotel and plane reservations confirmed, to casually “mention” the idea to my Chair, the witch. I wrecked her nerves. To be fair, she had enough to do with main organization of the event. I had “My portion under control, no worries.”, I said, but that just made her spit and stomp.
Big T and I also booked a suite at the hotel convention facility and offered to wine and dine the college recruiters the night before kick-off. Of course, I made Gumbo, lots of hors d’oeuvres, and the liquor flowed. It went VERY well……..
On day two, I was told, a college row “like this one” had never been done before….. “normally just a couple of locals”….. but I didn’t know that. Whoopsie Daisy! We had stacks and stacks of brochures and info from all 168 universities – and a few college mascots as well. It was great!
But then, there’s the important part……..
In prior months, I noticed a problem with the kids and their expectations about college – just at the local level, our kids, for our own school. They had so many questions, and no idea where to begin. Parents were confused as well. The misperceptions led to students ‘settling’ for less than their ideal choice, which is a shame. No reaching for a brass ring. Something had to be done.
To focus the kids, debunk the myths, and figure out what they really needed, I developed a “statistical study” as a starting point. I asked about 30 questions, single sheet of paper, open-ended, and printed up 4000 copies, distributing them to all entrants at our main event. I thought I might get lucky…… was hoping for 100 responses from the kids for a bigger sample …….. I received over 1200 returned surveys. Wow.
Like lightning striking, with a big clap of thunder, we were onto something bigger than I realized.
Kids and their parents swamped my table with questions……, even following me when I went to the bathroom, like I was the new Obi Wan Kenobi and carried the keys to college money. I wasn’t and I knew it. It was time for me to up my game. I was no college counselor – but I knew a 168 people who could point us in the right direction. Over three days, we practically rubber-stamped over 800K in scholarships and saved one scholarship worth $25K a year. Not bad ….. not bad at all…..
After I got home, I collated the results of the 1200 responses. I spent a weekend and manually entered 30 answers – and their notes, for all 1234 responses, to tabulate percentages and reach conclusions. I was stunned by the results. I produced what I thought was a fairly professional report on the raw results and conclusions I drew. Then, I sent the summary/report/raw results spreadsheet to several who were interested at the home office of FRC, all regional board members, and my bitch of a Chairwoman. Got a LOT of phone calls from the home office and a strong hint of job offer with a transfer BACK to Boston. Funny that!?!
Well, I was fired from my ‘volunteer’ job the following year by the Chairwoman. Wonder why?!?
BUT……. momma’s no fool. I kept my lists and contacts with college admission officers. We walked our kids through the process and dozens of them received scholarships. Gunner landed a few as well. He’s flush with cash and sitting pretty.
Almost a decade later, I still talk to some of those college recruiters. My list has worn edges but I still keep it handy. Team mentors who became friends still call me. Every now and then, a kid knocks on my door for help. I’m still no pro, but reading the scholarship directions carefully and making a phone call to an admissions officer is worth thousands of dollars to those kids. We…. someone…..  simply needs to take the time to listen to our kids, and match the students with the scholarships….. and many of them would no longer slip through the cracks. We need to find a way to hang onto the Kenny’s, for the benefit of us all.
It would help us build a better country.
PS – I wanted to add a pic to this post but didn’t want to include photos of student minors and other people who might object. So, here is a picture of the shrimp po boy I had for lunch in New Orleans. Q Tree loves good food. Nothing better than a “dressed” po boy.

Okay folks, it’s time to share your best of best, summer recipes for a group! Dig into those recipe boxes and let us see what you have. Q Tree loves good food. Bonus points for anything with bacon, bourbon, or ………watermelon.
Ready, set, GOOOOO!

Wishing all Treepers a glorious July 4th this year!
We have to have fireworks for July 4th. No fireworks would be like a birthday without a cake or Christmas without Santa. Yes, backyard fireworks are mandatory for our Nation’s Birthday.

Because we lived “in town” but had a field out back which is about 3-4 acres, we had a perfect gathering spot for our group of friends. Our house is fairly close to the street, but the field “out back” is enclosed by trees and high shrubs. The “near back”, on the east side, has an 8′ tall brick garden which gives the illusion of an end to the property. On the west side was an old chicken coop. Through the middle is enough of an opening to drive a truck into the back field. The school wraps around the property and very few people know the field is there.
The field has served as our go-cart track, football field, slip and slide, water park, Daughn’s grand pool/kitchen/garage/cabana/loveshack/arbor/spa project, and yes, our firework launch pad. Through the years, the guys built steel pipe launchers for mortar shells, screwed to 8’x4′ plywood for pads. One staff member surprised me with a waist high aluminum pipe “fan” which spreads out about 4′ and launches 8 rockets at a time. Yeah, we’re firework lovers.
And you know me, I always look for the best deal. Wholesale not retail. Because the party was always at our house, I ended up spending the most on fireworks. It was getting expensive. I needed a bigger “bang” for my buck and looked for options.
One day, the kids were whining/moaning/bickering over spring break with “nothing” to do. Intervention was necessary. ROAD TRIP! A girlfriend and I made a few ham sandwiches, packed a cooler, and loaded our kids into the minivan. We took off for Sikeston, MO, and BOOMLAND, which started as a truck stop and grew into a fabulous firework store. Three+ hours later, we had lunch at the “Home of Throwed Rolls” and got down to business for fireworks. Each kid had a budget of what they could spend, cash in hand (not much), but I had the checkbook. Firework guy was happy to see us …. cuz no one buys fireworks in March. We bought “off season” and drove back to Mississippi happy as heck.
Another year, we drove to Illinois to visit Aunt Helen for Thanksgiving. Sikeston is on the way. Gunner, about 6yrs old, was elated we would stop at Boomland, but disappointed when we told him we could not buy them until the return trip. It made no sense to drive the car for the next 7 days with hundreds of dollars of fireworks visible. We decided to wait until the return trip to stock up on fireworks.
Well, Gunner waited and waited. He survived the pinched cheeks from elderly aunts and dutifully ate jello salads for Thanksgiving. He was anxious, ready to go home early from Aunt Helen’s, just so he could get to Boomland. Yet, after the aunts and uncles, we stopped for a few “museum” days in Chicago, before we turned for home. Seven hours at 65mph through Illinois to the Missouri border was terminally slow with an excess of holiday traffic. Gunner moaned in the back seat, counting mile markers, waving at truck drivers. By the time we arrived in Sikeston, it was well past dark. Gunner was out of the car like a shot………. but the firework store was closed. We were too late.
His whole little body hurt at the same time, and he fought the tears. He was so disappointed. After waiting for 7 days, he missed his Santa Claus.
We drove across the big parking lot to the “store” portion of the truck stop, for Big T to refuel, and get a snack for the remainder of the drive home. I hit the aisle for Bugles, my all-time favorite road food, but Gunner wanted a meat/cheese/crackers Lunchable. He was one aisle over from me and still fighting tears. Suddenly, another man in Gunner’s aisle noticed he was upset and struck up a conversation with him (People who work in truck stops are very attuned to children being kidnapped and at that point, Gunner was in distress. The man inquired.). Come to find out, he was the manager of the fireworks store.
Curious and cautious, I rounded the corner to see who was talking to my son. About the same time, the man pulled out a ring of keys, which was so big, he could have unlocked the world. He looked at my son and said, “Well son, do you want me to open the fireworks store for you? I can do that!” Gunner was so excited, he froze.
I’ll never forget the way that guy looked at that moment. He was a rugged and handsome fellow, with dark hair and big blue eyes, wearing a typical blue flannel shirt, jeans, and a ballcap which had to be 20yrs old. Today, someone in Manhattan or Palo Alto would think he was a pedophile, and shun him. Yet, at that moment, our guy was wearing a red suit, and driving a sleigh with 8 reindeer. Yep, Santa Claus showed up at a truckstop in Missouri. My little man was thrilled.
We found Big T back at the minivan, when a light cold rain started to fall. We drove back across the parking lot to the Firework Warehouse section. The man unlocked the doors and flipped on the remainder of the lights. We were the only ones there. The place is enormous, it used to be an old Wal-Mart, filled with Fireworks. YUGE! For Gunner, it was like being the only kid at the North Pole.
We shopped and shopped, making deals left and right. I made a deal if I spent “X” dollars for “X” discount. Then, we found a whole deck in the back with the big “finale” fireworks, but the paper torn…. They were already half off and last years fireworks, not sure if they would work, …. so a double deal. I let Gunner buy whatever he wanted, he’s still a frugal kid. By the time were were ready to ring up, I had 8 grocery carts, piled high, full of fireworks. Our tally was a little over $1K and Big T treated. It was the most we had ever spent but we walked away with at least 3-4K worth. I was hoping the stash might last a few years………
But we had a problem. We couldn’t get it all in the minivan as we had suitcases and other stuff in the car. The Firework guy offered to box it up and keep it for our return trip, but we wanted to take it with us. Rapidly, we deconstructed as much 90% packaging as we could. It took a while and the rain was picking up but the temps were dropping. Eventually, we had to pack Gunner into his seat and pack fireworks around him. We put some under the seats, in the back, emptied one suitcase – consolidated to another – and packed more mortar shells in the extra suitcase. We even had fireworks on the floor surrounding the passenger, on the dashboard, and all around the driver. We were loaded. Gunner hugged his Santa (so did I), and the snow started…..
We were cramped but joyous by our coincidental encounter with the Missouri Santa Claus. I couldn’t believe our good luck. Gunner could not move, his feet were in his chest. When we got home, we had to uncoil Gunner, one limb at a time. He looked like a bean sprout, from a lima bean, getting out of the car,…… but he was thrilled.
We took over one entire room of the B&B to organize our treasure. For months, Gunner’s buddies went into that room and dreamt about July 4th……. just like kids would dream about Christmas.
Month after month, the kids waited. Can’t remember what we ate or drank that year, but I do remember, when the fireworks started, we had 64 kids. Dad’s set up 4 pads to launch – and the dads were just as excited as the kids. Some of the kids fell asleep before we were finished. It was a banner year.
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A few years later, we started the stone company, and I figured out almost all the fireworks in the world come from one town in China….. My eyes got big…….. I could send one of my guys who was in China, up to the city, to personally supervise the purchase. “OOooooohhh”, I thought, “I would get the cool stuff!” Of course, it was a good idea to import a container of fireworks! Immediately, I began to enlist girlfriends to chip in on the finances. Big T shook his head, surely I would need a pyrotechnic license, massive paperwork and approvals. He’s always nervous if anything smells remotely illegal – the lawyer – the altar boy. On a lark, I called the local FBI to check. “You did WHAT????? You called the FBI to see if you could park a container of fireworks in the driveway?”, he was about to blow a blood vessel. But…but… but……I was good to go, “As long as I kept each “shot” under 500 grams.”, I said innocently.
Nope, Big T put his foot down.
He’s such a killjoy.
Gotta have fireworks……..!
Think I will take it easy this year and just bake a cake.