some of it's true

"We are taking heavy fire! I repeat we are taking heavy fire! I need a medic over here now! Keep your head down, son, unless you want to lose it. Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes, men," I said in my best authoritative voice. My mind tends to get pretty noisy whenever bombers, tanks, and machine guns are involved.

"Chris, stop picking at the turkey," my mother demanded before kicking me out of the kitchen and sending me outside. There's no telling what time she got up this morning, but she's been in there all day cooking for what looks like an army. Don't get me wrong, she prepares giant meals pretty much every day, but on Thanksgiving, things get crazy. By the looks of it, we invited everyone on Bend Road.

"You better not be getting dirty, Christopher," I hear through the screen door as my knees embed into the soil beneath our oak. "Yes, ma'am," is my effort to avoid a lie and not tell the truth at the same time. Mom means business because she used my entire first name. Whenever she uses my first, middle, and last name, it means I'm already busted, and there will be consequences. It's wise to avoid those scenarios.

"RAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TATAT! These bullets are flying everywhere. Quick! Take cover," were the last words some of my small green militia heard before meeting their maker. Once we finish burying those poor devils, the remaining troops will have to complete the fort. By now, I'm second-guessing the decision to wear my Sunday clothes outside to play before the celebration. Filth works its way deep under my fingernails as I lay flat on my stomach, digging six-inch graves.

Earlier I was standing by Mom as she cracked the oven to check on her stuffing. The smell escaped filling the room with the sweet aroma of a day that only comes around once a year. Mashed potatoes are my favorite, especially covered in her giblet gravy. I don't even know where to begin with all of the deserts. She makes a squash pie I'm not a giant fan of, but her coconut cake is enchanting. We'll have days of leftovers after the event, and that's fine by me.

"Sir, it would seem as though the enemy has blown up the dam. In a few seconds, the fort will be underwater," screams out my imaginary lieutenant. Before most of the men can make a run for it, I tip over my five-gallon bucket of water onto the frantic soldiers. Many ride the current to safety, but some meet an early demise caught between giant logs from unfinished structures. Alas, my heroic attempt to save a few of these battle-worn fighters was in vain.

Mom's number one rule at Thanksgiving is that guests aren't allowed to take food home. This rule suites me, but she invites everyone to come back the next day for more, and they do. By the fourth day, all that's left is turkey and cranberry sauce. There's nothing like a good turkey sandwich with a bit of Velveeta squished between white bread. I'm pretty sure everyone ends up at my house because Mama is the best cook in Salem.

"KABOOM!" The leftover firecracker I'd buried in the muck explodes, sending my lime-colored squadron flying. Specks of mud are all up and down my arm and cover my face like chickenpox. It's a good thing I wear glasses because that could have put an eye out. By the time the smoke clears, all that's left are the mangled remains of my warriors. Bowing my head, I say an earnest prayer for the brave who have fallen on this holiday.

Speaking of prayer, if I don't make it inside soon to clean up, I'll be needing plenty of help from Baby Jesus. The house is full of people, but I may be able to sneak past to grab some fresh clothes. Everyone is either watching television or helping Mom finish up, so it should be a cinch. Before I even manage to get one foot in the door, I hear, "Christopher Ray Sherron." I should have stayed on the battlefield.

I have made many trips to the chiropractor in my later years. The old back began going downhill at age 38. I'm guessing it has a lot to do with years of standing and lifting heavy things improperly. Restaurant work definitely has quite the impact on a spine. The biggest lesson my bad back taught me was always to wear nice underwear.

I was complaining to Scott about my back pain again. I'm sure he was getting tired of hearing me whine, so he recommended his chiropractor. I was never too big on taking any drug to kill the pain, and my rationale has always been pretty straightforward. If something hurts, I want to know it hurts so I can fix it. I realized I would be making many trips to the doc but figured it was the right decision. Adjusting my back and changing my lifestyle seemed like a better choice than masking the pain and hurting myself more later.

I had no idea what to expect when I walked into the little office. I was warmly greeted and asked to fill out several papers. The receptionist was charming and quite pleasant. I took a seat and began the paperwork. Occasionally I would look up to explore the waiting room, and each time an employee entered the area to call a patient or hand papers to the receptionist, I noticed a trend. Every single female in that office was gorgeous. I was beginning to think a requirement to work there included at least one appearance in the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. I'm not kidding; each one of those women is destined to have remarkably beautiful children. It got to the point where it seemed as though they were all walking in slow motion preparing for a pillow fight. I kept expecting a bunch of college kids to rush in with plastic swimming pools full of jello. I even took a second to check for hidden cameras behind the potted plants.



As my thoughts and eyes were both wandering around the room desperately searching for one average woman so I could confirm I was not dreaming, it happened. "Mr. Sherron," I heard in the distance as if waking from a deep sleep. Enveloped in the atmosphere, she had to call my name a second time before I could react. Finally, I stood up and followed Kate Upton to the room. She asked me to have a seat and assured me the doctor would be in right away.

A few moments passed, and I heard a subtle knock at the door. To no surprise, a stunning tall blonde chiropractor made her entrance. She asked me several questions. I was so taken back by the whole experience; yes was my standard answer for everything. Who knows what she asked me. She could have said, "Mr. Sherron, do you find zombies remotely attractive and butt snort sniffle mulch," My response would have been yes, accompanied by a nervous grin. She then spoke four words I will never forget. This particular sentence broke through my cloudy little dreamy fantasy like an ice bath. She said, "take your pants off."

At that moment, I began to panic. My heart and mind began to race frantically. "I can't remove my pants." I thought to myself. The chiropractor is like the dentist. My good underwear is reserved for a physical in a regular docs office. No way I'm taking off my pants and revealing my shark attack boxers. What would James Bond do in this situation? Well, first of all, his boxers would have been silk, and secondly, they would've not been torn to shreds. The chiropractor would unsuccessfully kill him then they would have sex. None of that would remotely happen to me, ever.

The only thing left was my waistband. I was pretty much-going commando. Politely I asked why I had to take off my pants. The doc told me we needed an x-ray. "Damn it," I thought to myself, never saw the x-ray thing coming. She asked if I was alright, and I decided to let her know about my dilemma. In a business-type voice, she assured me she had seen it all in her lifetime, and it was no big deal. I removed my pants and immediately felt a cold draft surround my frank and beans. Between the arctic air and extreme humiliation, shrinkage was unavoidable.

She had me lying on a tiny table, lifting my legs, turning, and bending in all sorts of weird angles. A man can only take so much before he becomes numb to any circumstance. I finally stopped caring by the time she asked me to stand for my x-ray. I kept looking down at my chilly little bishop wishing the room was a tad warmer. She asked me to be still then started fiddling with the equipment. For one reason or another, the x-ray machine wasn't working. I was ready to get dressed when she told me to hold tight while she went to get help. I have to admit, making a run for it crossed my mind. Before I could make a move, she returned with two Victoria's Secret models.

They all tinkered with the x-ray machine while I stood there desperately wishing my fireman was in full uniform.

The device was finally working, and the x-ray Sports Illustrated shark attack boxer predicament had come to an end. I was allowed to leave with my pants shortly after.

Before going home to ponder what had just happened, I made one stop. I was not about to go another day without new undies. I immediately threw any damaged undergarments away and replaced them with briefs worthy of James Bond. Anytime your mother preaches the importance of always wearing nice underwear, please listen.

I didn't know Evelyn back in 1933 during the height of the depression, but I know she witnessed the Second World War unfold on the radio like most Americans. By the time she was twelve, the whole thing was over, so I doubt she would have paid it much mind if her brothers hadn't enlisted. Days were taken up with chores mostly, but she found time to play like most kids. Her family was poor, but if you asked Evelyn how much money they had, she'd tell you they were rich. She'd probably even tell you to mind your own business if you asked too many questions.

The smell of tobacco often penetrated the air in our small community. Sometimes you'd hear a car or two out on the road, but mostly things were placid aside from the sounds of lively animals. Folks conversed with each other and knew when someone was unwell or having a challenging time. People offered to help, but no one ever asked for it. It was a time when all anyone had was one another. No one ever went hungry because that wasn't allowed in Salem.

Like any little girl her age, she loved playing with her dolls and inviting friends over for make-believe tea. Evelyn wasn't afraid to get dirty while outrunning the boys through the woods and swinging from grapevines into a creek. She didn't care for The Shadow or Flash Gordon, but she did adore Little Orphan Annie. It's when the radio brought every American together at the same time in their living rooms, and it was special. On occasion, she'd have popcorn using the leftover grease on top of the stove.

Evelyn was aware of Glenn Miller and Frank Sinatra, but those weren't her favorites. This little girl was dazzled by Ernest Tubb, Hank Williams, and Eddy Arnold. Those country girl roots were apparent whenever she'd tune in to the Opry on Saturday night and thumb through ragged magazines with pictures of the performers who left her star-struck. It was a sensational escape from many of the hardships of growing up around Bend Road.

Most of her clothes were homemade, hand-me-downs, or both. She didn't mind because she didn't know any different. Everyone else did the same thing anyway. Cora, her mother, cut her hair and taught her how to cook and tend to the chickens. No one had it easy, but Evelyn refused to let it crush her spirit. Her struggles only managed to make her stronger by feeding her motivation.

Evelyn is full of hope, with countless seasons waiting for her arrival. She daydreams of places to investigate, hearts to break, and the man she will love someday. She fantasizes about a pretty dress and putting on makeup before the dance. Curiosity bubbles inside of her chest while her imagination creates whole worlds inside of her innocent mind. Behind her sweet sapphire eyes rests a warrior ready to challenge life's catastrophes and celebrate in its joy.

A Visit from St. Nicholas

By Clement Clarke Moore


'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

Seventy-eight dollars was a pretty good haul today. The promotion from busboy to a server is what I needed. Now I'm making more in one night than I did in a weekend of cleaning tables at the Catfish House. Luckily Mrs. Ellis gave me a shot because I always thought I was too clumsy to carry all of those dishes up my arm. Some of the regulars who request me when they stop by are pretty cool and good tippers. It's not a bad job, but I don't see myself here much longer.

"The floor needs to dry a little more, Chris," Mrs. Ellis tells me as I attempt to wrap up prematurely. At least the little dining room is finished. We knocked that out about an hour before we closed. Mr. Ellis always lets us get a head start on a few things because I don't think he likes to hang out very long either. For the longest time, I didn't feel like he enjoyed having me around.

I overheard him telling Dicky a story when I first got the job. I've always been a little hard of hearing, and when Mr. Ellis doesn't have his teeth in, he can be challenging to follow. Typically when I can't understand someone, I instinctively giggle, and it usually works out in the end, and everyone is happy; not this time. The story wrapped up, and my southern belly chortle kicked into high gear; then Mr. Ellis looked at Dicky and said, "I don't think that was funny, do you?" Dicky's eyes widened, and he said, "No sir, I do not," as our chief walked away and disappeared into the kitchen.
It turns out Mr. Ellis was telling the tale of when some thief stole his class ring at school. Thankfully he forgave me, and we grew pretty close after the misunderstanding.

"Momma, this floor's dry," Mr. Ellis belts out across the empty dining room to his wife.

Mrs. Ellis smiles at me and says, "go ahead and finish up, sweetie." She continued closing out the register.

My friends are starting to accumulate outside. As soon as these chairs are down, I'm out the door. Luckily a couple of guys stuck around to help, so it'll go fast. My buddies and I will cruise Riverside for a couple of hours before we end up at someone's house. That's what we do most nights. There isn't much else going on in Clarksville by the time I get off work. The evening always begins with high aspirations that we'll meet a few girls, but despair sets in when things wind down, then we give up. It's a weekly cycle.

After changing my shirt and grabbing my coat, I head out to the parking lot to meet yet another Chris we'll call Chris G; then there's Kevin, Don, and Matt. I'm attempting to catch as many moments as possible with this group of guys because I know these adventures won't last forever. Sooner or later, we'll all drive around together for the last time, and none of us will even realize it's over. All Chris G and Kev talk about is moving to Alaska so they can get rich. They're planning on leaving as early as next year. Matt's obligations on the farm are his number one priority, so he'll be taking on more responsibility soon. Don's future is up in the air right now, but my best guess is that he'll follow in his parents' footsteps and join the military.

For now, we're all together, and the night is young. About the time my pals pile in the Cutlass, George Michael blasts through my speakers, encouraging us with his song Faith. Everyone sings along, and we make up our own words if we don't know the lyrics. Once the song cools down, the conversation fires up.

"Man, we need girls," Matt says from the backseat as we see a carload drive past.

"We wouldn't know what to do with them if we did meet any," Kevin announces.

"Don should clearly talk to them first," was my recommendation.

Chris G concurred, "Yeah, they'll love Don's eyes; they always do."

Matt perked up, "The problem with that is when they see Don, the bar is too high, and the rest of us are out of luck."

I suggested, "We should just stop bringing Don along then. It'll improve our chances."

"You guys really suck," was Don's comeback.

Every group has that one guy who is ridiculously good-looking. Don is that guy in our circle. The rest of us can pull every trick in the book to meet a girl, but Don doesn't even have to try. He flashes his ice-blue eyes, and it's game over for everybody else. Kevin is always too hard on himself; Chris G is currently heartbroken; Matt and I would appreciate a tiny bit of excitement, so hope lives within us two. We're an odd group, but we are the best of friends. High school has its share of clicks, but none of us ever quite fit into any of them. It's probably why we all get along.

The cruise route starts by turning in by Funland arcade, and then we drive past the movie theater and back onto Riverside Drive. We follow the Cumberland River to the last light and use Burger Kings' parking lot to redirect and repeat. Cars are bumper to bumper at least until around one in the morning. I'm good to go all night because my job doesn't start until three tomorrow afternoon. Some of the guys have to get up early, but most of us get to sleep in on Saturday.

Horns honk, and the sound of blaring music blends with squealing tires and powerful engines. The crisp air forces us to keep the windows up during the ride. Each red light gives us a chance to roll them down and hopefully make eye contact with a beautiful girl. Some magic moments materialize before being snuffed out by an annoyed look from an overbearing boyfriend in the driver's seat. Laughter takes over as we prepare for the next stop.

"That hot girl next to us just smiled at me; catch up to her," Matt sounded out.

"Pretty sure she was looking at Don," uttered Kevin.

Chris G chimed in, "Now she's rolling her eyes and speeding up."

"Guessing she's not into a car full of desperate boys," I proclaimed.

"It's a sausage party every night," Don added.

We smiled and decided to check out Buffalo Brady's and maybe play a game of pool. None of us are professionals, but again, it's more about meeting the opposite sex and less about showing off any game-related skills. We filed in, past the cigarette machine in the foyer, and took a table. Guns N' Roses filled the dining room with one of my favorite tunes, Paradise City. Matt and Don headed to the billiards while the rest of us ordered a couple of sodas.

I told Kevin that I thought that brunette we passed on the way in might be into me. Chris G told me I should forget about it because she's already talking to Don. We changed the conversation and moved on because she was a lost cause at that point. We slid into deep dialogue mode in no time because that's what happens around midnight. The crowd began to thin out as our two buddies returned to join in the discussion.

We sat around that table, looking at each other wrapped in the innocence of youthful bliss. The late hours made no difference because none of us thought too far past the moment. One of us would take the floor to speak while the rest would intently listen until it was our turn. Chuckling until we couldn't breathe or crying until our tear ducts were empty wasn't uncommon at all. We'd become friends long ago, but it was times like this that cemented our friendship for a lifetime.

On the way back to the Catfish House, the guys made me sing Chantilly Lace because I could make myself sound just like The Big Bopper. They'd all cackle out loud while I did my best to keep from cracking up. Everyone complained about how we were a bunch of failures every time we went out. Of course, that won't keep us from trying the next day all over again. Tomorrows are abundant for now, so our group of lovable losers will make the most of them.

I never liked flying. The one time I got a window seat, I ended up giving it to an elderly woman who insisted she could see her dead husband in the clouds and enjoyed long conversations with him. As far as I could tell, she slept the whole time. Isle seats are best anyway because these trips tend to make me sick. The tiniest bit of turbulence ends with my face in the toilet at thirty thousand feet. Being a member of the mile-high club isn't something I'll ever mark off my bucket list.

I've always read that a person can never go home. The saying is true even if you never leave in the first place. People die, then everyone fights over stuff until nobody wants any of it. Favorite childhood memories get replaced with mini-malls and automatic car washes. Going back or attempting to hang on is a lost cause. Once we break free of the cocoon, it's time to spread our wings and fly. Or if you're like me, you hop from branch to branch forever in search of a better launchpad. Maybe I'll find it.

Nothing was keeping me in Minnesota anyway. The only girl I ever loved perused me for years, but I was too dumb to see it until she married my best friend. Today, I'm flying home to watch them bury Patricia Van Pelt after losing a cancer fight. I observed the rest of my childhood pals either become alcoholics or settle well below their potential in our dying little community. Life insurance salesman sort of chose me. It's not the most glamorous career, but it was the catalyst for my escape. Well, my physical freedom anyway. Somehow my mind is still stuck in some never-ending groove.

My happiest moments came and went by the time I was thirteen. Life was a struggle, and things rarely worked out, but I had my family and my buddies. I felt complete in my pre-teen years, even though my childhood was far from perfect. My favorite person wasn't even a person at all. It was my stupid dog, which I still believe today thought he was human. Wherever I went, my four-legged companion tagged along.

I'd be lying to myself if I said I wasn't nervous about going back after thirty years. None of my old friends will want to see me, at least the ones still breathing. I've got a good mind to turn right around and buy another ticket as soon as the plane lands. They've all been better off without me anyway, even my kid sister. That's what I'll do; I'll text Frank to let him know I changed my mind as soon as we land.

After exiting the plane, the first thing I saw in the airport was a giant Christmas tree. It instantly brought back memories of the real tree I picked out one year when I was a kid. Man, that little evergreen was ugly, and that's being modest. Everyone made fun of me, but they did what friends do and helped me decorate it anyway. It's funny, but that's my most memorable holiday. Not one gift from the past sticks out in my mind; only the memories of friendships and hardships linger.

Alright, time for the text, "Hey Franklin, I've got some awful news. Hopefully, you haven't made it to the airport already," before I could finish, I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Charles! Charlie Brown!" screamed out my old companion, Franklin. He met me with a giant hug as I turned around. Looking over his shoulder during our embrace, I discovered a welcome surprise.

I instantly recognized my sister Sally; we still FaceTime every other week. She was standing alongside Linus, Schroeder, Lucy, and the rest of the gang. They would have all been easily recognizable even without Facebook. Sadly Peppermint Patty is the only one missing. We'll be saying our goodbyes to Patricia later in the week. By the looks of things, the loss is lying heavily on Linus. Even after thirty years, they all showed up to see me. Maybe going home isn't impossible after all. "Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown," my childhood friends said in unison while tackling me with affection.

Sunshine shot through the rifts in the old tobacco barn in Salem, displaying millions of particles hustling around like minnows in a pond. Layers of deep green leaves linger overhead, perfectly placed until reaching their prime. A single delicate burley leaf escapes as if an elephant's ear could wilt and drop to the earth. Fallen plants blanket the ground but not for long.

"Chris, bring me an arm full of those leaves over there in the corner," my uncle belted out, urging me to be careful with them. Gathering as many as I could handle in one trip, I dropped them off at his feet and went back for more until he was satisfied. Uncle Neb patiently tied the stragglers together with his collection of rubber bands. Once we finished the chore, he offered to teach me a trick. I watched as he worked his magic.

Uncle Neb carefully placed one rubber band around his index and middle fingers. He then balled up his leather hand and invited me to watch closely. Like a true showman, he said, "Abra Kadabra," and quickly opened his fist. Somehow the band instantly traveled to his ring and pinky fingers. First, I was astonished and then honored when he showed me the secret and advised me to keep the mystery between the two of us. "Let's go have some lunch," he said eagerly.

The short ride gave me time to think while I sat next to my uncle in his old truck. Anyone who's ever spent time doing this sort of work will tell you it isn't easy. Earlier, a constant stream of sweat dripped from my nose as I lifted the enormous stalks to drive a spike through each one onto a wooden stick. "Boy, make sure you don't run that into your hand. I doubt Aunt Faith would be happy," was the sound advice from my cousin Billy and I wholeheartedly agreed.

Uncle Neb would visit the house a lot to see my mom, his sister. They loved playing rummy, and both were great at complaining whenever they'd lose. The tales they'd tell of their youth were fun to listen to during the heated matches. By the end of the game, I knew exactly how far a nickel would get you when they were kids. I recall thinking about how much the world had changed by the time the torch passed to my generation.

On occasion, his truck would pull up at MCHS to give my buddy Jeff and me a ride home after football practice. We'd pile up in the truck bed instead of squeezing into the front seat. The wind was a welcome relief after running several hills during training. We both launched grapes straight up into the air to watch them splatter on the blacktop during our ride. Sometimes my uncle had a watermelon or two in the back that may have disappeared before the final stop. Those ended up in our stomachs, not on the road.

Often I'd catch a glimpse of Uncle Neb sitting atop the tractor with a close eye on everyone working the field. I rarely saw him in anything aside from those denim bib overalls and trucker cap. He never once told me what he was thinking during those long hours in the heat, but I knew. Not long ago, he could have worked circles around any one of his sons or me. Growing old must be difficult, but it happens to everyone if we're lucky enough. He would have instantly traded his seat for a hatchet to swing away at those stalks if he was capable.

If I had to pick out one thing I enjoyed about working in tobacco, it would have to be the food ladies like my mother and cousins Donna and Terry prepared for us. It was a well-deserved feast in the middle of a busy day prepared with love. Each of us devoured as much as we could handle, and it was a lot. It made me feel like a king to sit around with my cousins and eat while listening to their stories like we were Vikings returning from a quest.

The meal would have been incomplete without my cousin Charlie picking on me. We'd often wrestle in the dirt before the day came to a close, and typically I was on the losing end. He started with a headlock that I managed to wiggle from before turning the tables and throwing my older cousin to the ground.

"Don't hurt him, Charlie," recommended Uncle Neb.

Charlie responded with, "Don't hurt him!?"

"Get 'em, boy," was all of the encouragement I needed from cousin Butch to pin down Charlie finally. I'm sure he let me win that one, but he never let on because that's what family does. Mom always said Charlie looked like Burt Reynolds, but to me, he was a bigger star. I'd never tell him that, but it's true. My uncle gave me a broad smile and told me Charle probably wouldn't be picking on me again.

My attention was fixated on the rearview mirror as we rode back to the field, and I secretly stared at my Uncle Neb's face. He drove slow anyway but took extra precautions on the rocky river bottom roads. His sun-dried complexion explained the story of a veteran, a farmer, a family man, and a mentor. Each wrinkle was forged from a lifetime of tears and laughter. Those bumpy rides were always too quick, and its misfortunate life has to be the same way.

Ninth grade has been a whirlwind. It's my first year as an official high schooler, and I've figured a few things out. I'm not even talking about history or science; it's the important stuff like, well, life. Many of my old friends from elementary school vanished into the halls of my memory while new companions surfaced to the top of the pond surrounding MCHS. It's no one's fault; it's how life works, and that's alright.

Playing football was never my dream, but I made the most of it for two years. Coach Horsey managed to convince me to stick it out with these wise words, "You have enormous shoulders, son, you need to play football." He may have been right about the width of my frame, but my heart wasn't in it at all. Some of those guys like Matt, Fred, Curtie, Russell, and David played the game since they were in diapers. My passion belonged somewhere else, and thankfully the sport at least taught me that.

Mrs. Brown gave me my first small part last year in a play called Arsenic And Old Lace. In eighth grade, I was happy to get whatever I could and did my best working with the older high school kids. After giving it one hundred percent throughout the year, tryouts for Harvey were just around the corner, and I wanted that lead part. Of course, doubt was easy due to my lack of experience, but I had hope, which was more valuable than skepticism any day.

Jimmy Stewart was always a hero of mine, from his personal life to his roles in cinema. He portrayed the main character, Elwood P. Dowd, in Harvey on Broadway and the silver screen. My goal was not to be James Stewart but to honor the man who'd entertained me for as long as I can remember. He was sincere and warm in every role he portrayed on screen and off, and that inspires me.

My nerves were on edge all day, wondering when Mrs. Brown would announce the cast. Each time I'd see my buddy Deb around campus, I'd ask if she'd heard anything. Neither one of us was patient, and we both constantly checked for the list in between classes. She auditioned for the character of Myrtle and was equally as excited. Silently I prayed the director wouldn't award the part to a junior or senior in place of my freshman inexperience.

Finally, the news was out, and I couldn't contain myself as I rushed to the little theater to check the results. A crowd huddled around the tiny sheet of paper taped to the wall, but I succeeded in breaking through for a look. Placing my finger at the top, I began to scroll down intently, reading the names, "Myrtle Mae Simmons - Debby, Veta Louise Simmons - Teresa, Elwood P. Dowd - Chris Sherron!" Jumping around and yelling was never my thing, but I did read the list three more times before stepping away from the wall to make sure. Plopping down in a chair, stage left, a genuine feeling of accomplishment forced my chest to swell with pride as I watched the cast form before my eyes. "Now the work begins," I thought as a smile emerged on my face.

Each day for the next five, I devoted about six hours to studying lines at home. A three-act play is no joke, especially with speaking parts every time I turn the page. The thirty-plus hours of memorizing were plenty, along with the rehearsals after school five days a week. Getting the words down early on was vital so that I could focus on character development over the next thirty days. My peers deserved my best, and there was no way I'd let them down.

While most students couldn't wait for the sixth period bell to sound so they could escape, I was hype for an entirely different reason. It meant that it was time to rehearse with people I'd grown to love. A week into practice, it didn't matter what grade we were in or what click we may have been part of because we were family. Guys like Rick and Chip were undoubtedly cooler than me, but all of that stuff faded away like the end of an act. Deb had me on experience, but she never hesitated to help out when I needed her for anything, and that's something special. What a team.

The two Teresas, I'd have to say, were a bit intimidating in the beginning. They were both seniors and on the extreme side of bodacious. I recall reading through the script for the first time to discover a kissing scene with Nurse Kelly played by one of the Teresas. I'd be lying if I told you I didn't look forward to rehearsing that each day. Okay, it doesn't technically count as my first kiss, but it sure gave me lots of experience before the magic moment happened more than a year later. Maybe more football players would have switched over to drama had they known about the benefits.

We had a packed house both nights. The audience was full of folks from all over the community, family, friends, and fellow students. Everyone knew what to do, and we were ready to put on a show no one would forget. The stage glowed as each character who'd evolved from the pages of a script came to life. We were spectacular.

Several weeks earlier, my friend, Billy asked me why I put so much effort into performing. Aside from telling him that I loved doing it, there was no clear answer. It was something inside I couldn't shake, but beyond that, I didn't have a clue. Once the crew was on stage and we took our final bows, I knew why I'd worked so hard.

I will never forget the enchanting sensation of gazing out into an audience as they rise to applaud. Hand in hand, we occupied the stage soaking up every ounce of energy thrown from the patrons. Roaring claps echoed all around as we stood under the bright lights from the catwalk overhead. Only one thing can top that exhilaration, and it happened simultaneously. A look to my left and then to my right exposed my people. The message behind Harvey is the value of friendship and loyalty. I understood that message working with my friends after school each day for a few weeks.

It's almost a little cruel going from the top of the food chain as a sixth-grader into a school occupied by grades seventh through twelfth. Montgomery Central is a giant swimming pool occupied by hormone-driven adolescents pushed in with the option to sink or swim. Some students look like they could still be breastfeeding, while others have full-on Grizzly Adams beards. Seventh grade was a blur trying to find my way around and making new friends. Somehow I survived, and I can only hope eighth grade will be more manageable.

The first bus ride of the year is always a little exciting. I get to see all of my old friends, and it's fun meeting the kids who are new to the neighborhood. This particular year started right up with the hope of romance in my future. The driver took us down an unfamiliar road and stopped at a house I'd never seen before. It was the first time I made eye contact with Carol. She walked up the steps, and before sitting across the aisle from me, she smiled. "Wait, did she grin at me? She probably saw the sleeping drooly-faced kid next to me and thought it was funny. Gosh, he's going to cramp my style. Maybe she did smile at me," I thought while frantically trying to avoid eye contact for the remainder of the journey.

The whole scenario played out the same for two full months. Carol would get on the bus, we'd both smile, and then I'd ignore her because I panicked and had no idea of how to seize the day. I should have never stopped reading comics because that's when all of my girl problems started. Graduating to stuff like "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may" has me constantly thinking about love and time. Time is on my side right now, but it'll be lost one day soon, and what if I never love? All adults ever do, is complain about how hard life can be and how lucky fourteen-year-olds like myself have it. Did they forget what it's like to be afraid and how paralyzing situations can be, or is it all a giant lie they tell kids to prepare us for adulthood? Maybe I'll figure that out one day.

"Gosh, it's getting cold," escapes my mouth to be carried away by the frozen air for a moment before mixing with the heavy fog of a November morning. My footprints take the place of our first frost of the season while I hop to stay warm at the bus stop. Today is the day. I'm planning on asking Carol on a date. My brother already told me he'd be our chauffeur if I ever worked up enough nerve, so that's covered. We'll strike up a deep conversation, and before arriving at MCHS, I will have secured my very first date.

Carol's stop came and went, and she didn't get on as luck would have it. Today was supposed to be my time to shine, so hopefully, I'll have enough nerve when I see her again. My heart was a little broken because I didn't get to sit across from her. We never spoke, but I'd gotten used to being near my brown-eyed companion. The empty seat is a reminder that I must act soon.

Janet, Carol's good friend, stopped me on the way to first-period PE to talk. She informed me that Carol likes me and would like to be my girlfriend if I'd ever ask. After exiting the conversation, I was more worried than ever. What if she is only caught up in the idea of being my girlfriend? She hardly knows me, after all. Our first conversation could quite possibly be our last if I say the wrong thing. Those rosebuds are already beginning to wilt.

After getting dressed for gym class, I got lost in conversation with my buddies, Brian and Wade, before roll call. "Did someone fart?" I inquired while my two pals wondered the same thing. Billy turned around to assure us no one farted this time, and it was actually Wayne. He'd spent the morning cleaning out the chicken coops before school, and a few souvenirs hitchhiked on the bottom of his sneakers. We were all thankful it wasn't us and changed the topic.

My friends encouraged me to ask Carol out finally because they were probably tired of me talking about it. Caught up in our discussion, I'd missed my name, and Coach Cron gave me twenty push-ups. Wayne was on the bottom row of the bleachers, so I made sure to distance myself before the workout. The smell of a gymnasium is terrible enough without subtle hints of chicken poop swirling around my nostrils as I take deep breaths.

Later in the day, I noticed Carol in the hallway. "Carpe diem," I thought over and over as I approached her with shaky knees and an accelerated heartbeat. After greeting one another, I asked her why she wasn't on the school bus. Before she could finish her explanation, I blurted out, "Would you like to go on a date?" Her flawless smile chased away the brief pause with welcomed relief before the bell signaled our tardiness. Being late to my sixth period didn't phase me in the least. We held hands on the way to the bus that afternoon after class.

My birthday was back in July, and somehow I managed to save most of the cash for a special occasion. A first date qualifies, so I went all out and spared no expense. During our weekly trip to Montgomery Ward, I found a great deal on a necklace in the jewelry section. After dropping half of my money on it, the other half was for the movies. We both love to laugh, so we decided on Spies Like Us with Chevy Chase and Dan Aykroyd.

We arrived at my date's house; I hopped from the car and rushed up the sidewalk to the front door. Knock, knock, knock. Carol's mother answered and invited me inside to have a seat. She told me her daughter would only be a minute and was super friendly. All I could think about while I sat on the couch was how excited I was about the big night. I imagined how thrilled she'd be after I gave her the gift and how we'd get to hold hands during the entire movie. Maybe I'd even be able to swing my first kiss at the end of our evening. Carol walked into the room, and I couldn't help but believe she was way out of my league.

The ride to the theater lasted forever. There was so much to say but not while my big brother was in the front seat driving. The experience was awkward enough without him becoming part of the conversation. He drove off as we walked to the box office and paid for the two tickets. We had a few minutes before the show started, so I suggested we take a stroll. A few flurries began to fall, and I figured it would be romantic if I presented her gift before we went inside. The half-moon was peeking at us through the clouds, and everything could not have been more sublime.

We stopped under a street lamp long enough for me to reach into my pocket to pull out her surprise. "Chris, this is beautiful," she told me before wrapping her arms around my neck to give me a tight squeeze. That embrace was worth every dime I spent earlier at the store for my new girlfriend. She asked me to put it on her, and I was successful after fumbling around for a minute or so. It was off to the concession stand for a couple of sodas before the movie.

I couldn't tell you anything about the comedy except that it was rather magical sitting beside a pretty girl with her hand in mine. Occasionally we'd glance at each other and giggle. Sometimes I'd give her a tiny squeeze, and she'd return the favor. My fingers had fallen asleep about halfway in, but I wasn't about to waste a second neglecting her touch. This moment took two months to materialize, and every ounce of it would secure a spot in my heart forever.

We whispered and laughed all the way back to her house after leaving the cinema. The only time Carol took her head off my shoulder was to briefly admire her new necklace. Soon I would be face to face with her at the front door. Hopefully, we would end with the kiss that's been in the making for fourteen years. Nervousness began to rear its ugly face, but I was confident enough to seize the day. It's too bad the climax would also indicate the end of our enchanting evening under the moonlight.

Not a single word broke through the silence as I escorted her toward the house. All I wanted was a peck on the cheek, and I'd drown in complete fulfillment. Tonight everything will change, and I will officially be on my way to adulthood. We stopped at the front door, and she thanked me for a fantastic time. Her mesmerizing copper eyes drew me in like a tractor beam straight out of Star Wars. My heart was screaming through my chest the closer I got to her lips. Just before we connected and ultimately sealed the deal, she asked me to wait. "I don't like to French kiss," she uttered before I pulled away. Alright, I had no clue what a French kiss was, and I was not about to ruin everything, so I settled for another hug and told her goodbye.

Carol and I held hands at school for a couple of more weeks before going our separate ways. Things didn't work out how I wanted them to, but my first date was in the books, and I officially had a girlfriend for a little while. My first kiss came along just before my sixteenth birthday with a girl named Jeannie, unless we count Teresa. I know it's confusing, but I'll explain that another day.

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying." - Robert Herrick

There's nothing like cracking open a brand new yearbook and getting a whiff of that adhesive and ink. Each section holds a treasure chest full of memories frozen in time. We quickly skim over some pages while others are studied and admired. Sometimes we skip the photos and quotes altogether and go straight to the signatures.

I've always had a personal tradition of waiting until I get home to read what my friends say in the annual. It gives me something to look forward to, plus I can sit back and soak everything in without distractions. I'm busy signing everyone else's at school, so waiting a few extra hours isn't that difficult.

After arriving home from MCHS, I say hi to Mom and rush upstairs to my room. With a couple of fluffy pillows behind my back in bed, I'm ready to see what my peers have to say. It's especially fun to see what the cute girls write because a guy never knows what sparks may be swirling around in the universe. "Alrighty, let's get started," I say out loud to myself as I crack open the book and begin to read.

"Chris,
Well, I don't know you very well, but you seem to be an O.K. guy. You are a lot of laughs. The double dates we have went on haven't been the worst. Hope you have a lotta luck with everything.
Teresa"

"Wait, what? An 'O.K. guy.' You don't know me well? What does that even mean? We went on double dates together. I'm thrilled they weren't the 'worst' experiences of your life. Gosh! I hate it when people write, 'I don't know you well, but...' That drives me nuts. Well, I'm happy to know I've left a mediocre impression on your life. Maybe one day in the future we can get together for some extra fun mediocre times, really paint the town."

"Chris,
Hey, I didn't get to know you as well as I would have liked to, but I really think you're great. It was really fun being with you on the Spanish trip to Rivergate. You're just a WILD & CRAZY GUY. Hope I see ya this summer.
Love,
Jacinda
326-----
Don't be a stranger.
PARTY ANIMAL"

"Hmm, I'm getting some significant mixed signals with this one. She doesn't know me well, but she thinks I'm great. I think she wants to hang out with me this summer. I mean, obviously, she wants to hang out because she wrote her phone number. Should I call her now? No. No. No. That looks desperate. I'll wait a few days and maybe ask her if she wants to party? I mean, I have no idea of how to party, but I am absolutely willing to learn. She did ask me not to be a stranger after all.

"Chris,
Well, if it weren't for you, all of us girls in chemistry would fail! You're a great guy! Stay out of trouble & have a great summer.
Love ya,
Sandra"

"Okay, 'Love ya,' is the exact opposite of 'Love you,' it means I'm in the friend zone in this situation. That's okay because she probably won't even like me at all after the grades come back from that last chemistry test. Everyone thinks I'm smart because all of my buddies are intelligent. I keep trying to tell them, but they don't listen."

"Chris,
You are a funny and crazy person. You have a way of making people laugh. I think you have a career in comedy. 4th English
Karen"

" Funny and crazy are good. That's not a bad legacy to leave behind. At least she didn't call me the stinky kid or something like that. I do remember making her snort more than once in class, so she's probably being sincere. I've never thought about a comedy career, but I'm leaving my options open. Should I give Jacinda a call? She did give me her number."

"Chris,
I'm glad that I got to share Gov. School of the Arts with you. Since then, you have become a special friend. Maybe we don't talk all the time, but you're still special. I will never forget you. Go after your dream. You are a wonderful actor and friend and guy and good-looking! Have a great last year.
Your friend,
love Melanie
P.S. Keep God in your life too!"

"Good looking? Wow, I didn't see that one coming. Crap! I should have told her she's beautiful or hot or something like that. Damn! Why didn't I read what Melanie wrote at school so I would have known how to respond? It may be time to forget my tradition. She didn't leave her number, though, and she called me friend, so I should let that one go. Wait, she called me a 'special friend,' so this could be a definite maybe sort of situation. "

"Chris,
You have been a fun person to be around. Putting up with your stupid jokes was pretty hard to do. Hope you get everything out of life you want.
Bobby"

"Alright, so maybe a comedy career isn't in my future. Was I fun to be around, or were my jokes stupid? Why does life have to be this difficult to figure out? Was he being sarcastic, and he thinks I'm funny, or was he being serious? That settles it; I'm going to have to unleash some next-level jokes at school tomorrow. Bobby won't know what hit him."

"Chris,
Well, let's see, I have known you for 12 yrs. Now. And maybe, hopefully, I'll get to know you one more year. You have been a great friend & I appreciate that. I hope you have a GREAT summer!
Kim 89"

"I hope I have a great summer too, Kim. What did she mean by 'Hopefully, I'll get to know you one more year?' Does she know something I don't? I'm going to have to teach Kim the power of positive thinking. She has been a good friend my entire time in school. I have a couple of Kims in my life since the beginning, and I'm grateful for them both."

"Chris,
What's going on? This has been a killer year.
Your pal,
Wade -The Kid"

"Wade, for one reason or another, loves to sign my annual with 'the kid.' He's done it every year I've known him. I'm pretty sure he has some infatuation with Billy The Kid. It would make more sense if his name were William or Billy, but it's Wade, and it just doesn't flow. I accept Wade, though, and love him just the same. Some days I greet him with a little finger gun and make the 'pow pow' sound. I'm not sure he gets what I'm referring to, but maybe he will one day."

"Chris
'Billy Bob Jo Dean,' That's what you said your name was HA HA. 2nd period has really been a trip with you. You think of more off-the-wall stuff than anyone I know. Killer, stay sweet & make something of yourself. You really have potential but just party every now & then.
Love,
Twila"

"Twila knows me. I guess I should party more often. I'd probably be a little more popular if I did. I think she believed me at first when I lied about my name. At least until roll call, but we got a good laugh out of it. It's sweet she believes I have potential. I need more positive reinforcement like that in my life. I hope we keep in touch. Hmm, she said, 'Love Twila,' Okay, I need to stop doing that."

"Chris,
I still don't think you're sane, but you're a great guy anyway. Work on the jokes and good luck. See ya on t.v.
James"

"Alright, this is starting to give me a complex. James is like the fifteenth person to tell me I need to work on my jokes. What the hell is wrong with these people! Oh, maybe it isn't them. He's always told me that I should be an anchorman or weatherman or something like that. I would consider that career, but I have a difficult time keeping a straight face. I could imagine bursting out in laughter for no reason during the forecast or a serious news story."

"Chris,
Even though your stupid jokes caused my parent's divorce and my grandfather's ulcer, and me getting kicked out of the house into the cold, harsh world at the age of 15, we're still friends.
Jeff"

"I give up on the jokes."

"Chris,
It has been of utmost pleasure working with you in the play. Stay cool, and life shall treat you well. God Bless!
Robby"

"Rob, 'Stay cool?' For real? When have I ever been cool? I wonder if Jacinda is home now?

The next day at MCHS, I happened to bump into Scott before the first period. He approached me with an overabundance of enthusiasm and wanted to talk before class.
"Dude, you won't believe what I'm about to tell you," he said, smiling ear to ear.
" Please don't leave me in suspense; what's up?" I asked.
"Jacinda wrote her phone number down in my yearbook. Can you believe that! I think I'm going to call her," came from Scott's mouth.
"Dude, you should totally call her," crept from my lips as I shook my head and walked away from the conversation.