Tuesday, April 12, 2011


Frankie was a guy that I met playing golf. His age was hard to tell, but I read him as being in his early 40's. He was tall and thin, with a goutee, and a leathery look making it clear that Frankie worked outside in the sun and wind. Frankie's golf clubs, and his golf swing were far more impressive than his ability to dress. Upon first glance, a veteran golfer would have thought that Frankie was a construction worker that aimed to drink more beers than there were holes on the course. He was wearing a tee shirt with rough looking khaki shorts. The hatchet tattoo on his calf took up most of his leg below his knee. His short white socks were ankle high, as expected for late 80's – early 90's fashion. While he talked of beer, I didn't see Frankie drink anything but Gatorade and water.

While Frankie had a rough look, it was downright enjoyable to play golf with him. He had a fairly smooth golf swing, and managed his game as well as any average golfer would. He said that he'd been playing golf for 6 years. Which, upon hearing, I had to amend my view; he was playing great for only having been playing such a short time. I'd been playing for 15 years and wasn't much better than Frankie, if I was better at all.

It was on the 13th hole, that God began to reveal Frankie to me a little bit…like any diamond in the rough, Frankie had much more below the surface than talking about drinking beer and hitting golf balls into the water. We were waiting for the group ahead of us to finishing playing the hole, which was taking a few minutes. So, our foursome (Frankie, his friend Mike, Rick the Hurricane Ike refugee, and myself) turned our conversation to the Tulsa area golf courses that we had played. We discussed which ones were fun to play, hard to play, not worth playing, and too busy to play. I came around to asking the question that was forefront in my mind, which was, "Have you guys ever played Southern Hills?" Southern Hills was a famous country club in south urban Tulsa that had been the home of several major PGA championships. Most recently the 2007 PGA Championship was held there. That's what Frankie referenced in his reply. "No, but I been there. Hell, I was standing about 5-6 feet from Tiger Woods. He couldn't a been any further from me to you." Frankie continued, "Yeah, I was drunker than a motherfucker, and I was on TV, could barely stand up. I was even on TV, and all my friends saw me…they told me that I looked like total shit."

This reply was expected from everything my mental stereotypical engine had expected. It was at this point that two very interesting and key things happened in our conversation. My Christian self-promotional system kicked in to high gear, and I was instantly elevated to Fankie's judge. I thought of how he had squandered the opportunity to be at a PGA Tour event by drinking too much. Drinking, in itself, doesn't bother me as a Christian, but as any responsible person would agree, drinking too much is a problem for anyone. So, I was busy trying to be nice as a Christian and only judge Frankie a tiny bit…which is what I think we Christians are really good at. We remember what Jesus told us about sin, and about judging people. Yet, it is really hard not to bring the morality hammer down on someone when his or her actions appear to be so in contradiction with what Jesus described as the proper way to live. Follow that thought immediately by the fact that I pictured myself struggling through my Christian journey, and I was sure I was doing a much better job than Frankie. It was at this moment; when Frankie opened his mouth again, and the second key aspect of this conversation hit me square in the face.

Frankie flowed right into the next sentence, "But, I didn't care, my wife had died a week earlier, and I really didn't care what the fuck other people thought".

I wouldn't have cared either. I ceased being a judge. I'm a grown man, as masculine as the next, most of the time. I've had my own cold looks into the face of death. It becomes instantly hard to hate, dislike, or judge a person once you get to know them, or get to know their story.

My whole view of this man before me changed in an instant. I have learned that when I have pictured something a certain way, and it has the capability of changing so drastically, so instantly, that it is generally God speaking to me in a clear way.

I had MIS-judged Frankie. I wasn't about to do it again. As we continued to play the next two holes, I silently thought about how hard it would be to lose my wife. Wow, I honestly couldn't fathom the concept. I approached Frankie on the tee box of the next hole (Hole 16 for those of you counting). I told Frankie that I had lost people in my life and that I understand how hard it is to lose a loved one…I ended by saying that I couldn't imagine losing my wife, and that I was sorry for his loss. Frankie further revealed the inner gem inside the rough exterior. We had made a connection. I had explained that I had lost my mother and father at a young age. Frankie had lost his mother when he was 10 years old. I could tell that his eyes misted as he said, "It's my ten year old daughter that I worry about, why the fuck did that have to happen to her, she didn't deserve that…" The truth is that Frankie didn't deserve that either. He continued, "My friends tell me that I can't just let her do whatever she wants…but, I love her to death and want her to have fun in life, it's already so serious for her. I know I'm hard on her, but I want her to grow up good."

One of my final memories of that round of golf was on the 18th hole. It had started to rain, and the wind was heavy at our backs. We had to decide to play the last hole in the rain, or head to the clubhouse. Frankie jumped up on the tee box and said, "Hey boys we got the wind, let's let her rip and see if we can drive the ball 400 yards". I looked back at him grabbing my driver and said, "Yeah, let's boom these bastards".

That comment on the tee was a God-sent gift for me. It was raining, but Frankie didn't even notice. It was raining pretty hard. But, all Frankie could see what the opportunity to do something every golfer loves…knock the ball forever down the fairway like the pro's do. Now, my job in this life seems to be to follow people wherever it is they want to go… and while I'm not drawing a solid conclusion, I believe that Frankie had found hope. He had ignored his current circumstances, which were negative, and focused on the opportunity to do something better than he'd done in the past. It was something stupid, like hitting a golf ball 400 yards…but you have to start somewhere.

As I reflected, months later, on my time with Frankie, I was drawn to the golf tournament where Frankie commented about being so close to Tiger Woods. Tiger is a figure of perfection in the golfing community, supreme excellence, one of extremely high value. Tiger is one of the great ones, (or was at the time). Yet, as Frankie's story burned deeper inside of me, I couldn't help but recognize the irony of this picture. One of the most famous concepts that Jesus discussed in His ministry was the turning upside down of the world order. The first would be last, He said, and the least of you shall be the greatest. So, as we picture these two men standing in such proximity. One completely focused on the great one, and the other completely focused on his golf game. I wonder which one was the greater of the two? Which one in God's eyes had the dazzling target of an open wound, too wounded, and drunk to even understand, at the time, what his life would be like as a single father? Which one of these two would Jesus consider the greatest? While I can't be sure, and certainly nothing against Tiger Woods, I do think that Jesus would have been standing right next to Frankie, and being proud to be doing so… I don't know, maybe he was…

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Aunt Bea Bringing the Owe Bawn Pain!


While sitting in the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport, awaiting a flight that kept getting pushed back, I sat in the waiting area next to the gate. There were many people there waiting for this flight, and I sat back and tried to relax. I closed my eyes and tried to get a little rest, it was morning and I'd caught a 7 a.m. flight from Orlando. As I did, my ears beckoned me to listen to a conversation right behind me…turning around, I saw a slightly overweight woman, with gray hair, talking on her cell phone. She looked like any other grandmother, that is if your grandmother had a nice cane, and a hair cut that favored carousing with the same sex. She sounded nice and concerned, but then, the fireworks started.


"Hey! Get your dead ass up and get to Tulsa, I'm in Dallas. Yes, I'm flying in a…well, if the damn plane will ever get here."

I'm not sure, obviously, who was on the other end of that line, but sounds like they better get up and start moving towards Tulsa.

"They got that test back, on the SPLEEN. Last I heard she was in dialysis [Die-AL-uh-SIS…slowly spoken]. How does she look?"

"Well, What room is she in…3132…that's 3-1-3-2…got it. I'll be there in a couple of hours…I'll get checked in to the hotel and …what, moved to 272? What the hell woman?"

Now, I'm really into this conversation…and I really wish I could see who was on the other end. I don't think you want to be yanking Aunt Bea's chain, or pulling her cane as it were.

"Well, they were at the horse show, and you know they moved all the qualifiers….yes, all the qualifiers got moved, 'cuz of the snow…Yeah, we'll be there for a while and then we'll go hang with Steve and his gang."

Horses and gangs…and I don't know about you, but my grandmother doesn't really "hang", except maybe…well, never mind. On with the show…

"Well, I don't really know how HE'LL be feeling…you know he's hard to talk to on the phone, what with all that wheezing all the time. YES, he still goes down to that damn bar, with all that smoke…you believe that?"

"Hey, that reminds me…you remember Hal Leonard? No, No, NO, used to live across from mom and dad…Yeah, him. Well, you know they amputated on him, and he's not doing…no, no good at all."

"How long do they take for their…oh, well, he's only got a few months…and the VA, well they just go there to die, or get well and leave…either way, they said he's 82 on the list and busted…he's having mental issues too, and he's number 82 on the wait list…No, she cain't take care of him."

"Well, Cowboy's gonna come home on Emergency Leave. They're trying to get him home to see his daddy one more time. He's with the Red Cross in Afghanistan…what, yes, I'm sick…but didn't sleep a wink, just hacked all night…but, I'll be ok, I got some kick-ass herbals from a guy here…something about some AKIE berry or something…what? that's Uh-Sigh berry…oh, well that, I'll be ok."

"Yeah, they want Cowboy come home, 'cuz he's so damned proud of that boy for making something of his life…shame if that boy don't get to see him before he goes."

"What…I thought he was coming? Hasn't anyone even called the Red Cross? Well, you just dial the damned number and start asking questions, starting with, 'we need to get in touch with a boy who's father is about to die'."

At this point, I had to get up and move, because Aunt Bea got off the phone and I needed a better vantage point to watch my quarry…I am now a Voyeur Extraordinaire…no use trying to deny it.


Round 2 (Aunt Bea sat back down and begins dialing her phone again…not clear if this is the same person or not, on the other end of cellular cyberspace)


"Well, listen here, this is really pissin me off now…we, you and me are gonna have to go all Bee-Yatch on them when I get there, you got it!"

"You gotta get someone to call the Red Cross, they'll go find that boy, that's what they do…he needs to get home to his dying daddy…that man loves that boy."

"Well mess with my mouth for just thinking about it, but that's got to get done."

"I didn't realize we was walking into a snake pit. Sounds I'm gonna have to go all Janitor on them when I get there [This is the correct phrasing]."

"Well, you better get down there and change the damned locks then…I told them they got no business being down there…who gave them the key…Jesus, oh Jesus, you can't save people from themselves, can you?"

"Well, you can tell them now, that they don't want to be there when I get there, I'll be kicking their asses out, they might oughtta leave while they can on their own legs."

"You call Derrick and tell him I'm callin in a solid…I want them locks changed before I get there [It's a 40 minute flight]."

Derrick better get his dead ass over there and change the locks.

"Yes, I ate something at that French place in the airport Owe Bawn Pain."


At this point, we are called to board, and she gets off the phone.


On the plane, I see no signs of Aunt Bea, but after my upgrade, it occurs to me that she probably could have done with the upgrade more than I. While I was thoroughly entertained by her drawl and sense of "I'm gonna kick someone's ass", I was also drawn into her story. Her family is getting older and they are in a constant state of falling apart. Older people that grow sick and can't take care of each other…older parents that can't say no to their kids, when all they do is take advantage of their aging parents. I could see the worry in her eyes, while the bravado worked to take charge, and create some structure to what sounded like a family in chaos. I'm not sure who she's going to see…the lady on dialysis or Cowboy's daddy, maybe both. It was clear that she was going to make sure things got done. I'm grateful that they have someone in their family that can think while the world continues to fall apart. I was reminded of my own grandmother, as she ages, and can remember at times, scenes like this playing out in my own home…where someone had to come take charge in a completely broken situation, with a completely broken family.

I do hope Cowboy made it back to see his daddy one more time...



Thursday, March 24, 2011

Frik and Frak

Anybody that mentions the movie "The Beach", deserves to be written about. I freely admit that I've never seen the movie, but as I recall, the only press the movie received was about saving the damned beach it was filmed on…before the movie was ever made. That may or may not be a dig aimed at the originator of the comment, but at the very least…it piqued my interest.

Two guys, sitting at the bar in the restaurant I was in, one an aspiring young professional, the other perhaps a modern man of the world:

The conversation centered mostly around various communication and media companies, but it was interesting nonetheless.


FrIk: Didn't you know that Media Company A was acquired by larger Media Company B?

FrAk: No, Man! When did that happen?

FrIk: Man! Haven't you been following the media company feeding frenzy…gobbling up one another for the past season?


Note: He didn't actually answer the question. I wasn't aware of the acquisition, but I haven't been quite keeping up with the media company feeding frenzy either. Score: 30 - Love.


FrIk presents as an olive skinned guy in his late twenties, dressed very well, and a laptop at his disposal on the bar.

FrAk, his darker skinned companion, also in his late twenties and well dressed, displaying a not-so-groomed set of facial hair…cool, hip, but not overly groomed.


FrAk: Have you ever seen the movie, "The Beach"?

FrIk: No, what's it about?

FrAk: It's about this really beautiful beach and they…[completely lost track of the next few words, due to the Tequila Sunshine delivered to me. Think Tequila Sunrise made with Pepper infused tequila…a most marvelous drink!]

FrIk: so they save the Beach?

FrAk: It's a marvelous beach, really really perfect and beautiful.


Note: Second question that goes unanswered…tit for tat. Score: 30 – 30. I would say that I've been to a few beaches in my life, and several of them were quite wonderful…but, I don't remember pitching that we make a movie only about the beach.


[The conversation languishes for a while as they drink and split an appetizer.]


FrIk: Have you ever heard of Zombie Lego Apocalypse?

[Uhm, no, but now you have MY complete and undistracted attention…WTF?]

FrAk: No, what is it?

FrIk: This dude takes little lego people and makes them into zombies, and then creates these apocalyptic scenes where people battle them.

[NO SHIT!!!! Really, where does this stuff come from????]

FrAk: What do you mean? Does he make them? Like little models?

FrIk: I'll show you. [opens laptop and pulls up website]

ME: Excuse me, did I overhear you correctly…zombie legos?

FrIk: Yeah, he takes them to shows, and you know, to like win awards?

[I'm completely unaware of the "Jacked-Up Lego Art Show" movement.]


Note: FrIk now shows us several scenes of the zombie-fied legos and several scenes where something definitely apocalyptic appropriately fits as a description. Score: 60 – 30 (double points)


FrIk: Yeah, he does this and paints them himself . [And…quite well, if I may add]

FrAk: [laughs]


Note: Which, at this point, I have to turn away from them, because he sounds just like Chandler Bing's girlfriend Janice, which in turn makes me crack up. Score: 60 – 40.


Final Note: After this, they pay for the check, which isn't without incident, as FrIk almost leaves his credit card in the bill…Score: FrIk wins the match!




Monday, March 7, 2011

Getting Laid Off Ghetto Style

My phone rings...I know it is my boss, she sent me a message stating, "I have something important to talk with you about, I'll call you at 9:30".

I knew I was getting laid off.  I wasn't sure how I knew, but this time, I was right...maybe because I'd habitually guessed that every call from my boss was the lay off call...maybe not.


Them:  "Hey Scott, it's [your boss], do you have a minute?"

Me: "Yes"

Them:  "I have [HR Lady's name] on the phone with me, and I have to let you know with the recent cutbacks that your position with the company has been eliminated."

Me:  "Well, I've been under the bright lights before, so more illumination won't bother me much."

Them:  "Scott, your manager is trying to tell you that your position has been eliminated."

Me:  "I heard her just fine, and being under the spotlight won't bother me none too much."

Them: "I think we're having a misunderstanding."

Me:  "Maybe so, but I work well under pressure, so being center stage and being illuminated works just fine here, I kick some ass."

Them: "Scott, we're telling you that you won't be with the company anymore."

Me:  "Whoa, now that's a whole other ballgame there, who said anything about me not being here anymore?"

Them:  "We did, your position is going away."

Me:  "Daaaaaamn, now that's not cool...going from the spotlight to having no job, that would suck, now really what are we talking about?"

Them: "We are here on the phone to talk about you getting laid off."

Me:  "Well damn, listen here, my wife finds out I don't work for the company anymore and ain't nobody getting laid or getting off round here, now what I mean?"

Them:  "Let's discuss your severance package."

Me:  "Hey lady, there ain't nothing more severe than not having a job...get it N-O J-O-B."

Them: "Well..."

Me:  "AND....let me tell you now, I ain't letting you do that...I quit...I got your PACKAGE right here, got that?"

Them:  "Excuse me?"

Me:  "THAT'S RIGHT, I ain't talking about nothing more severe than not having a job, that's all messed up."

Them:  "Your severance package Mr. West, that's where we pay you..."

Me:  "PAY ME, PAY ME, not having a job, you ain't gonna be paying me shit."

Them:  "MR. WEST, we will pay you until you find another job."

Me:  " OOOooohhhh, yeah, that's cool...you didn't hear that about me having your package did you....?"

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Tom the Toolbag Throckbottom

I came across Tom, recently, while attending an event where customers were meeting with a company.  The goal was for the customers to come and listen to updates from that company and share experiences that would help everyone enhance their experience with said company's products.

We will be dropping in Tom over a 24-hour period, looking at the general theme of his existence.  While overall being a decent guy, he has issues, like we all do...this time, I got a front and center view... you probably know Tom too.

[Expressing the reason for being at meeting]

Tom:  We are glad to be here, we've been a client for a number of years, I used to work for said company, but moved on to [a better gig] my current role with not-before-mentioned company.

Translation:  I got out of work to be here, and can run my mouth for a while.  I have a big penis, and it was so big that I decided not to work for that company anymore, because another company has glass walls that make my penis appear even larger.

[later, while discussing a project that ALL CUSTOMERS know didn't well...for any of us]

Tom:  We did push forward with that project, and it was a disaster.  We had to wait for additional repair jobs, and then the guy forgot the repair parts, but we handled it and eventually it worked out.

Translation:  You all know this project sucked, but I'm going to be a Total Tool and throw the company that's buying me an outrageous dinner, right under the bus.  They sent out a guy that had a much smaller penis than me, and I had to make sure he measured both our penis's several times before I let him leave.  He also had to write a letter of penis length to my boss, thus proving the enormity of my rod.

[at dinner]

Tom:  I just brought on Leon here with me, and we've been backtracking across my experience with both companies to make sure we can layout a progress plan that others can use as well as my company.

Translation:  I hired Leon, he is not allowed to have a big penis, but if he does well, he can aspire to grow the rod as I have done.  I like to stroke my big rod, by mentioning again that I used to work for the company sponsoring this event, and now moved on...because...my penis grew even larger.

[next day, after someone brought up "The bad project" again]

Tom:  Yeah, I really didn't go into detail yesterday.

Translation:  I'd like to revisit that story about how big my penis is...from yesterday.

Tom:  We actually had to go into the project and point out what was wrong...they had the gall to call us and say that what we found was correct and that they would send someone out to fix that too.  Ryan was instrumental in making sure that they actually fixed the issue.

Translation:  Did I mentioned anything about my Big Penis, Even bigger now, and a little rub here, and small penis guy calls, and sends small penis guy out...Ryan played a nice role and his penis grew a little there too...but he still isn't allowed to have big penis.  After that incident, I had to tell my boss about how I pointed out their small penises and then go buy a bigger banana hammock for my giant helmeted spartan.

All in all, I think Tom just needs to know that he's appreciated.  I know he has a bit of a rough life at home and we all like to grow the characters we play at work into a starring role.  Perhaps his cry for help has to do with his children, and wife, that have some special needs going on...I don't know.  I do know that his affect on we other customers wasn't tremendously positive.  Nobody likes a blowhard (no pun intended), and playground rules still apply when you are 50...take turns Tom, don't be a Tool.  Let other people win once in a while, or nobody will want to hang around you.  

He violated one of my two most important rules in the workplace.

1. Just do your damned job.
2. Don't be a dick.

We all know this guy.  He may work with you, or play golf with you, or live down the street.  He's done all the things he says...he's not lying...he's just a dick about it.  Don't be a dick.  You don't have to be, people respect silence as much as they do a 6 foot schlong.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Gertrude and Berthilda..."CALM-BOWS alive well in Oblivia"

Place:  Ron's Famous Chili and Burgers, Peoria Street, Tulsa, OK

Occasion:  Lunch, hours before doctor visit to find out there won't be eating at Ron's again.

While enjoying a nice lunch, chili-cheeseburger and root beer, two older (one 60's one 70's) over-weight country garbed ladies enter and stand conspicuously in the middle of the restaurant.  I'm not quite sure if they stole my heart, my dignity, or just 20 minutes of my life...you can help me decide...

Gert:  I told you, you just stand right here and they come find you and tell you where to sit.

Bert:  I don't think so...look at everybody, that guy just sat down.

G:  I've been to the one at...EXCUSE ME, DO YOU COME SIT US DOWN OR DO WE JUST PICK?

Server:  M'am, you ladies just sit wherever you like, we'll be right with you.

B:  Told you.

G:  Hush, I told you I've been here before.

B:  Not THIS one.

[Gert and Bert sit down in the corner, right behind me.  I'm eating my tots waiting on a fork, with the waitress taking their order, getting drinks and coming back...in between...]

B:  I thought you said they had a special?

G:  They ALWAYS have a calm bow.

B:  Well, I don't see it...maybe they tell you at the table.

[waitress on way back with drinks...conversation quickens with feeble and unsuccessful attempt to be a whisper]

G:  I mean they always have a CALM BOW!  I ALWAYS GET IT!

B: This ain't yours.

G: Hush, here she comes, she don't look too bright.

B: You hush, I still don't see a COMBO anywhere.


Waitress:  We have the combo listed on the insert, with the bratwurst, but that's it this week...can you tell me which Ron's you normally go to?


Waitress:  We are all franchises, but each store has a little bit of difference to it.


Waitress:  Well, what do you usually get?


Waitress:  Oh, well, you should just order those here, you'll find its cheaper at our prices than the combo at your Ron's.

[They actually order at this point, after some length and many more questions...they both get a standard burger, fries, and a drink.  I am, however, glad that they have evaluated everything on the left half of the menu for sheer entertainment purposes...only four more mentions of "CALM-BOWS"]

G:  SO, As I was telling you, They are gonna get ALL NEW TILE, but not from the same house, its coming from another house.

B: Well, will it be NEW? If it's coming from another house.

G: I DON'T KNOW ABOUT THAT, but they are getting all new tile because they messed up that wood.


B: Did I tell you about Jana?

G: Jane?

B: Jana...

G: Jane?

B: Jana...JAH  NUH...Jana Spivey.

G: Oh-Oh, OH, Jana SPIVEY.  What about her?

B:  She had to go back into the hospital...

G:  She did, oh what for?.......You know, I almost had to go back because of my erratic heartbeat and them saying I had NO BLOOD PRESSURE AT ALL...So, I went to Doctor Spiner's and he set me up with a new blood pressure machine, for me to have at home.

B:  Well, My blood pressure machine is 5 years old now and it works perfect all the time.


Waitress:  Thank you ladies, here's your check, Two Burgers, Two French Fries and Two Cokes...have a nice day.


Some time during the past twenty minutes, I realized something.  There are millions of Bert's and Gert's around the world, and they make a living by wrecking the English language and assaulting the common decency of most they come across.  They live life on their terms and forge their way through the this day and age, which is no longer their's.  They probably spoil their grand-kid's as they preach to their children that "if you spank that kid, they'll mind better".  You probably know these two, or two just like them...given a day or so, you could probably drive back to some little town and find them, or find your own versions from your past.  Had Thelma and Louise landed softly, they'd have played out this scene many times.  

For me...it was my Grandmother and my Aunt.  Both gone some 10-15 years now, I couldn't quite bring myself to dislike Bert and Gert...they were too much a part of me to dismiss.  Even as I type this, a tear pushes forth, because I'd give much of what I have to see my Grandmother and Aunt argue over how good the Pie is in Wewoka Oklahoma.  I miss it.  I miss them.  Imperfect as they are...broken pieces of humanity, creating a little travesty wherever they go...God love'em...they have a place at my table.

Dignity, Humor, or just the time...maybe they didn't rob me at all...perhaps they gave me a little gift instead.  My Maw-Maw West used to really piss off my Aunty Jerrye...why?  I don't know.  But she'd say "She was supposed to be a boy, which is why I named her Jerry....and did you know she was born in a tent, cuz we couldn't afford the hospital?"  "Shut UP MAMA!"

Wow...$10.33 got me a hell of lunch today.  I just wish I knew what they hell happened to Jana Spivey...guess now I'll never know.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

William Moneymaker Johnson

I had only had the pleasure of meeting Bill one other time...before our sons took us off into the weekend world of a cub scout campout.  As we approach the middle-aged, soon to be divorced, man about the world, we should take note that my experience with Billy the Moneyman Johnson was entertaining, although not quite pleasant at times.

As we pitched our tents, I came face to face with Bill, who had been at the campsite for a while already, long enough to have set up camp.  He brought an ice chest cooler with Lemonade, which was thoughtful for a 20+ kid camp-out.  He did an excellent job of coaching the kids about locating the right sized rocks to build a fire pit.   He helped the scouts construct a right proper and safe fire pit...complete with wood separated by size, according to the scouting handbook.

As time wore on, we began to see that Bill would be played, in our movie, by a combination of Steve Carell, touting his "I really am being a dumbass right in front of you" style, or Harry Dean Stanton's younger days (Repoman, or Pretty in Pink), as the well intentioned but socially bankrupt dad in Pretty in Pink.  Actually, somewhere right in the middle...if we could make Matthew Broderick socially retarded, and give him a can of copenhagen...that's Billy boy.

Really, it started to go downhill with the guitar...

Shortly after the fire pit was nicely constructed, Bill began wandering the camp site with his guitar.  I'm not even sure what he was playing, or if he was playing...really just being seen with his guitar.  This alone will put you in total douche-ville, but was quickly to be out-done by...the sandwiches.

I had heard, as I worked to set up camp for my cub scout boy (7) and ride along daughter ( a precocious 9), that Bill had already eaten...as we ate sandwiches, so gracefully prepared by our Den Leader. My kids were busy tearing apart the sandwiches, which had mayo on them...damn picky kids.

Bill, and his boy...had eaten something along the lines of deer and seafood, which I quickly decided was a seriously wanting meal.

Later that afternoon, I was sitting at my campsite picnic table, with our Den Leader's husband, quietly listening to the Oklahoma State Football game.  He quickly glanced up, and then back at me, with a somewhat concerned look on his face.  A routine 180 glance of inspection revealed...Billy Boy, jaunting down the hill with two giant handfuls of sandwiches.

Now, there are times when you can duck and dodge...this wouldn't be one of them.

"Hey guys, my boy and I dropped our first doe last week, and she was huge, big and fat.  We dressed her up nicely, and I made Shrimp and Venison Pate.  Here have a sandwich..."

Knowing I was in for a land-locked shrimp sandwich...I quickly jumped on the grenade..."Hey [Den Leader], don't you have a shell fish allergy?"  (I knew her husband was already dead too, but I thought I'd try to save her)

"No, why?" [Sandwich nicely handed to her] "Uhm...what is this again?"

"Shrimp and Venison Pate"


I have to say they weren't bad.  Although I can tell you, movie-goers, I ain't eating another one if I can drown myself first.

Later that evening....

Sitting around the campfire, we sang songs, as cub scouts do...we sang Woody Guthrie's classic "This Land is Your Land", while William played his guitar.  Then we had s'mores.  It was a true blue campfire shindig, and it was fun...until...

[playfully strumming guitar]  William clears his throat.

Oh, shit, what's gonna happen now, I thought...

"I'd like to play a little song for you now...in my life, I've been privileged to travel around the world a bit.  A few years back, I was able to visit India.  You know, there are a lot of starving kids in India.  I really couldn't get over their bellies sticking out with hunger.  So, I came back and wrote this little song."

[Song about starving kids at India]

I'd quote some of the words for you, but honestly, I was too busy enjoying my phone buzzing away in my pocket...

"What the fuck is this?"
"Where the hell did this come from?"
 "Can you stop him?"

Just some of the texts that hit my phone in a matter of seconds, after the words started about starving kids in India.

I couldn't make it stop.  I'm still haunted...not by the starving kids in India...but by the Most Desperate Man in the world....wanting someone to listen to him.

Bill changed for me right then.  I saw him for what he was...and unfortunately, my compassion gene kicked in [damn my mother for giving me that].

This poor guy's life was falling apart, I didn't need the details...I could hear it in his voice.  He had money, he had a successful business, 'had' a nice wife (although that's another sketch in itself), and a great kid...that he and his soon-to-be ex are busy trying to fuck up as seriously as they can.

He wanted...needed us, to like him.  To listen to him.  He'd been around the world, and had nothing to show for it, but a crumbling family.  He wanted to grab a hold of something meaningful, and chose starving kids in India, instead of his wife and child.

So, I sat there and listened to him...not hearing the words, but hearing his request for a friend.  I'm not sure I can be that friend, but I tried, at least for a few minutes.  We drank coffee together and talked a little later, and again the next morning.

If I had been a true friend, which I just don't know him well enough to be...I'd have said, "dude, you are interesting, your son does love you, just quit being a douche-bag and roll with it a little.  Quit trying to have it all together...we all know you don't...and guess what...we don't either".

So long William...there's a spot for you, if you'll shut the fuck up and chill out.