Straight Fs, Sobriety, and Six Shots: My Not-So-Serious Life

If y’all notice, I’ve taken up writin’ like the country boy I always been—part farmer, part cowboy, and maybe just a dab of pure ornery...OK, maybe more'n just a dab. Figured it’d do good for my great-grandkids’ great-grandkids to know ol’ great-great-great-grandpa wasn’t exactly a genius. Bless my heart, I tried to be serious, but that dog just wouldn’t hunt. Heck, I even gave preachin’ a go for six years. Learned to mimic them good ol’ fire-and-brimstone Baptist radio preachers with their thunderin’ voices, but I just couldn’t find the passion for it. Once I left the nest, well, that country boy in me busted loose like a calf outta the corral.

I went off to college, but shoot, I’d rather be shootin’ pool than sittin’ in some lecture hall. Don’t know if you know it or not, but them highfalutin university folks ain’t too fond of an empty seat in their classrooms. I got the boot after a semester of straight Fs, and they showed me the door right quick. Took me 30 years to figure out maybe they had a point. Around 45, I got it through my thick skull and went back to college, earned my degree at 48 with a shiny 3.9 GPA. But not before dealin’ with them Fs—funny how they stick with ya, huh?

Now, I ain’t no stranger to tough times. Spent 18 years drinkin’ like a fish, but I’ve been sober for 40 now 2 different sobrietys a breakin' the 18 years. Even so, I never could take life too serious. It’s all been one big joke to me—‘course not all jokes end with folks laughin’. Back when I was a West Texas cop, I got a wild idea one cold night, ‘round 20 degrees out. Spotted a big ol’ dead rattlesnake someone’d run over in the road. Figured, “Why not have a little fun with this?” Tossed that snake in the back of my pickup, headed to the station, and found my buddy—poor feller who’s scared stiff of snakes.

Lucky for me (or not), his squad car was parked right by mine. Grabbed his keys, coiled that snake up real nice in the passenger floorboard, and waited for detail meetin’ to wrap up. Oh, I was grinnin’ ear to ear, waitin’ to see the fireworks. Soon as detail ended, my buddy hopped in his car, flipped on the interior light, and started fiddlin’ with his paperwork. Then it happened—BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM! Six shots fired! He emptied that six-shooter into the already-dead snake, plus a good bit of the floorboard for good measure. When he figured out I was the mastermind behind it, well, let’s just say he called me words I reckon Webster’s ain’t published yet.

That night, I thought, “Boy, better not get yourself in a fix where you’re acountin’ on him to back you up!” Next mornin’, Chief called me in, laughin’ so hard he was nearly cryin’. Then he managed to get out, “Oh, and by the way, that’s two weeks off without pay!” Yep, seemed like a good idea at the time!

Have a Good Week, Ya'll!