March 26, 2007
A Long Time ….
I have been chided, almost yelled at, for neglecting this self-imposed duty of writing update stories for this column in a timely fashion. Shame on me! So, in answer to those who have gotten a smile or two in the past; here we go again. I promise to be more attentive to the time in the future.
Time does pass so fast, and truth is always funnier than fiction.
These stories, as all of them that I have told in the past to you relating to folks living or dead, are 100% true and factual. Truth really is the best. The wording has not been changed to protect the innocent
True story #1. Since I was 16, I have had a two part drivers’ license; that’s right: 2 parts. I have never gotten a speeding ticket. Never! Absolutely true! A two (2) part drivers’ license! Now you all know that I have a sense of humor and that I am and have always been a salesman, and will be until I die.
The first part of my drivers’ license is just like yours, except you have a better picture and live in a different state. I can recount some really funny, true stories about being stopped for driving faster that you, but I’ll do that later. When stopped, as I have been many times, I have to explain to the officer that I have an unusual license and that he must promise to give me both parts back after running the records. Each time I am met with looks like “What do I have here?” from the officer.
Suffice it to say that even now when I get stopped (I thought the last State Policeman was about 15 or 16), there is always a smile if not an outright laugh from the officer when giving me back my two part license.
Sometimes when there are a few other cars also stopped, I have to wait with the officer at the side of the road, just talking, so that the other speeders won’t really get mad when I am sent on my way without a ticket by a smiling officer. The second part, it’s true as God is my witness, of my drivers’ license is a Monopoly “Get Out Of Jail Free” card, now almost fifty years old and badly dog-eared.
Never a ticket; always a smile.
True story #2. I have always driven more than 50,000 miles/year and I bought myself a cordless radar detector when they first came out about twenty-five years ago. Habits are tough to break, and I automatically turn the radar detector on when I get in the car, almost without thinking. The old one, the one in this story, was a bit more sensitive to alarm systems, etc. than the newer one is.
I have wanted to share this story with the world by submitting it to Reader’s Digest since the day it took place, but when the words are changed to reflect what would be printed there, the story loses a lot. Here are the facts with the exact words from twenty years ago, and it still is one of the best true moments in my memory. As I type this, I hope that the humor of that afternoon can be shared with you as though you are riding in the car with me.
One of my godsons’ name is Bill; Billy when he was much younger. I always called him “Buddy” and still do to this day. He calls me Buddy right back as he always did; kind of a neat thing for a 6 year old to call an adult who lived across the street from him. We always liked each other and still do.
Today Buddy is a graduate of the US Air Force Academy and a pilot flying refueling tanker planes and jets both here at home as well as in the Middle East. This story goes way back to the time when Buddy was about eight years old. I had gotten some tickets to an Orioles game at the now demolished Memorial Stadium, and was taking my Buddy, his Dad Ray, his 2nd grade friend Michael, and my daughter Sarah out to the ball game. It was beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon and we started out for the 45 minute ride to the stadium.
I remember the day for two reasons; first because Michael was diabetic and he took his blood sugar readings and then gave himself a shot of insulin as we drove to the stadium. This was my first time seeing a capable young boy handle a personal situation, even though I was a volunteer fireman and had completed all of the advanced first aid courses. He was just a kid.
Life moves fast. We always maintained contact and still do now. Buddy was the lacrosse goalie at the Air Force Academy and nationally ranked.
I saw them again when Buddy graduated form the Air Force Academy in ’03 as a whole crowd of friends from high school, college, and his lacrosse friends were in Ray’s kitchen drinking beer. I gave Buddy a small wrapped box as a graduation gift and this 6’4” young man says: “I know what’s in the box”. It was Michael, who I had seen about once every 2-3 years as they all went through school. All of their friends crowded in, and each knew the whole story.
I had gotten a new laser/radar detector as the technology advanced about a year earlier and saved the old one for an anticipated special occasion like that day. Little did I know, but this crowd enjoyed the story of that ride even as much as I had and still do. By now all of them knew what Buddy would see when the box was opened, and they were all right: it was my old radar detector. Almost riotous laughter erupted from the crowd.
But, I am ahead of myself as usual.
About ten minutes into the ball game trip my radar detector screamed loudly and Buddy, his Dad and his friend were startled. Sarah, my daughter in the back seat with the boys, was used to the noise; the boys were not. Buddy immediately hollered from the back seat: “Buddy - what’s that noise?” and, without any thought I shot back my fast reply: “It’s a fart detector” which caused a series of giggles in the back seat, and then all fell silent…unusually silent for about ten minutes.
Ray and I were back into conversation when the silence was loudly broken as only two young boys could by laughing too hard. “What’s so funny back there?” I semi-shouted in a gruff voice. Buddy replied “It doesn’t work!” and the car erupted in backseat laughter.
That laughter continues. One can only imagine the straining that went on before the laughter.
True story #3. Three, almost four, summers ago seem like yesterday. It was at a Volunteer Firemen’s Carnival three plus years ago when Mary and I took two of our grandchildren out for an evening of local fun and food. The little ones, now 9 years old, had a great time with Bingo, the rides, getting faces painted, and especially the tent where they could throw a ping pong ball into a jar and win either a hermit crab or a small lizard. Those two winnings cost about $10 each at a quarter for 3 balls, plus the new cages, food, and accessories for the prizes.
Ricky got the hermit crab which was perfect. It made it through about 4 months before going to crab heaven. It probably got buried.
Emily, the oldest of three girls, was thrilled with her prize, a small chameleon which she aptly named Lizzie, and set up residence for Lizzie in her bedroom. More than reasonable care took place by a combination of Emily, her younger sisters and her parents for a long, long time.
Lizzie successfully made it through the keen interest and handling of the first few weeks and through the ensuing months that turned into years when other interests turned to horses and reading. Emily’s Dad took great care every week to make sure that a light was turned on for warmth at night and that the cage was clean.
It was late in October last year when Lizzie’s time ran out. She had made it for over 3 years, a feat in itself for a carnival prize.
This was Emme’s first experience with death of any sort, and there were a few tears shed. Lizzie was going to be missed. With great dignity and reverence a small box was appropriately commissioned to be Lizzie’s final home. Emme and her sisters Carly and Anna dug a hole in the back yard and the family had a small service before the box was buried, the location marked.
Shortly after that day life returned to its usual pace, with lacrosse practice, school, reading, etc.
Great grandparents are really something. While not always in the best of health, they provide an element even different from our grandparental generation, a little more revered crowd. There have been great grandparents on all sides for all the grandchildren.
One of Emme’s great grandmothers, Dot, took ill and died a few months later; she was the first person in the family that the girls had ever known who died. Explanations about God, life, death and funeral home decorum were given and understood, and all was fine, even through the funeral home visits and the church service.
Cars line up for the procession to the cemetery with lights blazing, and then they move into traffic like a parade for the 25 minute ride to the cemetery. Silence from the back seat. About half way there, Emily breaks the silence and profoundly says: “It sure is going to take a long time to dig that hole”.
That goes to show you: You can always count on something you didn’t count on.
True story #4. After living in this little piece of heaven for the last 29 years, Mary and I have bought a smaller individual home in a “55 and Better” community about 15 miles from here; still close to all the family and friends we love. We must get used to living about 10 feet to the house next door. In our case, we figure that this home with some condo features should be a perfect place to live for the next years. We decided not to go to the four stage retirement home, where that last stop is the Pine Box Condo.
Until the next time, keep smiling and enjoy the only life you’ll ever have. Do something to make life a little better for someone else. I’ll try and be timelier with these in the future.
John Coakley
Westminster, MD
March 26, 2007