How many of you have had to call your parents after 10:00 PM for a ride home from the Sheriff's Department? Well, I have, twice.
By the way, if you are looking for my expert knitting advice and stories about yarn, you might want to come back next week.
Back to calls from the Sheriff's department. It's been a while, but it's happened. The first time a friend and I were practicing my road racing skills. Sometimes you get the road, sometimes the road gets you. I drove my car right off a cliff. I'm rather lucky to be alive on that one. My car didn't fare too well. I lost four points on my driver's license. I had to call my parents (Mom) for a ride home, but I'm here forty-nine years later telling the story.
If I am to talk about my second call, I need to expose a little of my dark side, which I am not crazy about doing. I would ask if you are under eighteen years old or if a relative, stop reading and come back next week. Ah, what am I thinking? My relatives would never read this stuff!
When I was in high school, half the school carried zip-lock bags. People had zip-lock bags in their cars, if they had a car. Zip-lock bags were in lockers and hidden in bedrooms. They were pretty much everywhere.
If you had a zip-lock bag you either had friends or you could find a new one. If you had a car and a zip-lock bag, wow, were you cool?
One Friday night, I had the opportunity to hang out with a guy who had a car and a zip-lock bag. I knew this guy since we had gone to junior high together. I knew he had a NICE car, but it surprised me he had a ziplock bag.
My friend picked me up at my house. He surprised me again because he had a girl in the car. I knew her well because she lived nearby. My friend introduced the girl as his girlfriend. Huh, who knew?
Kids cruised around back then. My friend had a NICE'63 Impala, complete with a zip-lock bag. We headed up to the reservoir. It was dark and we decided to park. We positioned the car so we could see any oncoming cars, you know, like cops. Turns out we were wrong. There was one direction we couldn't see oncoming cars. It really wasn't fair, the cops didn't use or stay on the road.
Blue, red, and white floodlights lit up my friend's car. He stashed his zip-lock bag under the seat. Of course, the deputies found it. My friend was cuffed. The deputies were interviewing the girlfriend. I was basically left alone. I guess there were not enough deputies. I walked over to my friend.
Me: I'm going to run.
Friend: If you do, I will tell them who you are.
Well, that was that. I could have run but didn't. That would make the story end here. It didn't end here. I was driven to the Sheriff's department by a deputy. He was trying to be nice, but I wasn't in the mood.
At the Sheriff's department, I was instructed to call my parents.
Me; Mom, can you pick me up?
Mom: Where are you?
Me: At the Sheriff's Dept.
Mom: Why are you at the Sheriff's Dept.?
Me: Can we talk about it when you get here?
Mom: You tell me why you are there.
Me: I was with a guy who had a zip-lock bag.
Mom: You stay there, I'm not picking you up.
Me: Mom, it doesn't work that way, you need to pick me up.
Mom: I'm sending your dad.
Dad and I weren't the best of friends back then. I don't think he knew about zip-lock bags, but he did know, "No kid of mine would have hair like that!"
My friend, his girlfriend, and I had to call our parents. It wasn't long until a man, a mountain of a man, came crashing through the front door of the Sheriff's Dept. And I mean crashing. He screamed, "What the (construction language) is going on here?" Several deputies got up to "greet" him. One deputy looked at me and said, "You are free to go. Get outside." I headed for the steps of the Sheriff's Dept.
I can't say what happened after the deputy ordered me to leave, but I do know I was sitting on the steps when my dad arrived. I didn't wait for him to get out of his pickup. I jumped into the seat. I was waiting for him to talk. He didn't. He lit a cigarette, and looked straight ahead he finally talked.
Dad: What's going on?
Me: Nothing, let's just go home.
It was a long ride home. Dad's cigarette had two inches of ashes hanging from the tip. Again, looking straight ahead, he said, "You need to change your life." The ashes eventually fell and we went home. I went to bed.
My friend and I didn't talk much after that. I can't honestly say what happened to him at the Sheriff's Dept. that night. After high school, he moved away. I changed my life. Not right away, but I changed.
A few years back, after about forty-five years my friend reached out to me on social media. He found me on the internet from these (construction language) stories. (unnecessary construction language added for effect) These past few years, we talked about our struggles and how he found strength through his faith. I could count on him to read every story and comment on most of them. He actually asked his other friends to read this crap.
Gary passed away last week. Man, this one hurts. Gary was a husband, brother, father, grandfather, guitar player,.and friend. He rests in peace in the hands of his Lord.
If by chance Monner's Mumblings reach heaven, Gary, love ya, buddy. This one is for you.
Last week, I mentioned in my story that I wanted to retire from these stories. Well, I can't. Our good friend of Your Daily Fiber from Kentucky responded in a message to our family. Crystal, we are praying for you and I would ask readers of these stories to do the same. Anytime you or anyone feels the desire to guest author a story, consider it done. As for your other suggestions, well maybe. God bless you.
Comments are fine, Gary knew that.
Our crazy lives!