Random thoughts: Dad’s replacement

Random thoughts: Dad’s replacement


Dad died at the age of fifty eight years old, when I was twenty one years old. He gave my first wife, Mickey, a ride to the hospital, when my youngest son, Billy, was born. I was working and by the time I got to the hospital, Billy popped out and she was sleeping.



Dad died in 1975 is buried at Arlington National Cemetery


No one could ever replace my dad. Even though he was an alcoholic and he scared us sometimes with his drinking, he was my dad. He seldom scared us though, so I still loved/love him dearly. His smile was the biggest around town and he was a great dad otherwise.


About twenty years ago, I realized I was adding a father figure in my life. I never called them dad or never told them of my obsession to have an older man in my life. They were someone to sit with and talk of old times in each others lives.


I think my mom pacified that need until she died. My first father stand in was a man from church, we became very close when mom got sick with cancer in ’98. He left by way of cancer shortly after she did. Since then there have been several other alternates. Their course out of my life was moving, death, or a number of other ways.



Mom died 1998 and is buried on top of dad at Arlington National Cemetery


I was wondering do you think this is a normal thing? I’m fine with it.

Random thoughts: Single fathers

Random thoughts: Single fathers


Sitting at my favorite coffee shop, Starbucks, in La Plata, I was doing my favorite things. Yep, people watching, talking and making up stories.


I see a little, maybe two year old, dark hair girl with her father and grandfather. She looks so content and happy in either set of arms.


The grandfather’s smile looks natural, but not his touch. He’s afraid he’ll break her or at the very least drop her. The kid won’t let that happen though, she’s holding on for love of life.


Her dad knows what to do though, she doesn’t even wiggle with him anymore. He lays his left cheek on top of her head, breaking contact only to kiss the line that parts her hair.



Top row, left to right: me and Linda Left to right: Jamie and Billy. Linda wasn’t their mom, she was my first girl friend as a single parent.


I raised my two sons from the age of two and four without their mom, they’re in their forties now. I had help from my mom and whatever woman was in my life. So naturally I started reminiscing of the pleasures and difficulties of being a single dad. The scene took right back to the giggles and laughter.


I wondered what happened to his marriage, does he get the kid once or twice a month or does he have full custody, like I did. I regret the closed doors he’ll face as a single parent, but I’m happy for the open hearts that will be willing to help them in times of need.


As he gets up and walks to the trash can I ask, “How old?”


He replied, “Almost two.”


“Big brown eyes.”


“Yeah, she got those from her momma. She’s home making supper.”


There I am, the great storyteller wrong again, “What are we having?”


He laughs and says, “Not sure.”


“Have a good night and be safe.”


“You too.”


I did have the pleasure of Jamie and Billy bouncing around in my head for an hour.



Billy and Jamie in 2006 at Dulles airport.

Random thoughts: Dad and uncle George

Random thoughts: Dad and uncle George


I really have no idea if dad and his brothers were into sports, when they were growing up in east Texas. I know dad was a sport’s fan as an adult and he always rooted for the local teams.



Mom, me, dad and George, about 1957. left to right


He never showed me how to throw a baseball, football or dribble a basketball. Thinking about it now, I don’t think he knew how.


He did make sure, my brother, George, and I learned how to play what ever we were interested in and play it with good sportsmanship.


My dad rooted for the Washington Senators baseball team and the Washington Redskins football team, so by default I did too. Neither team was any good, but they were our local teams and we rooted for them, win or lose.


I have several fond memories of the farm, but this one often comes to mind. The Washington Redskins play the Dallas Cowboys twice a year. If the Redskins won, dad called uncle George in Texas, the opposite would happen if the Cowboys won. Twice a year that conversation occurred and it always started by one razing the other. It didn’t take long before they starting talking about family and old memories. This is one of my favorite memories of all time and that itself taught me how to be a good sport. He taught me by showing me.


I met uncle George one time and that was in 1972 after the Washington Senators left Washington and moved Texas and became the Texas Rangers.


Random thoughts: Writing about the Blues

LRandom thoughts: Writing about the Blues.


King of the Blue’s, Mr BB King

Sometimes I’m depruessed and that’s a perfect time to write stories of gloom and doom. Also reminiscing of sad times gone by, can create the perfect atmosphere to write blueish poetry or songs.

When I write poetry, it leans to pensiveness. My friends will ask, “Are you alright?” as well they should, because they’re my friends and they know and love me.

Sometimes I would answer, “Yeah, I’m good, just writing. Thanks for asking,” but if I am depressed, I’ll answer, “I’m a little down,” we’ll talk about it, then the conversation will lead into a more natural normal dialogue.

Lately I’ve been trying to write a blue’s song, with the desire to follow in the legendary footsteps of the great BB King. I’m finding it difficult to write something without a melody. When I write words, it’s to a tune in my head, that has already been written. I question how do these performers write words to music, but they know music and I’m trying to learn words.

I love listening to Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Slim Harpo, some harp by Little Walter, Etta James and many others. It seems they take the words right out my heart and expose them to world.


Etta James

I’ve liked the Blues for decades, but when Raymond and I watched the movie, Cadillac Records, it really took hold of me.

Have all the good songs been sung? Have all the good words been written? Hope not all of them, because I want to put my feelings into words, then on paper, then in your heart.

Random thoughts: Pervy

Random thoughts: Pervy




Through my DVR, I was watching one of my favorite shows, NCIS. In episode 9 of season 14, their investigation led them to a garage, where a guy had pictures of women in bikinis. Later, it was revealed that the guy was at a strip joint during the crime, so that was his alibi. The female officer said, “He’s pervy, but he’s not our murderer.” I immediately took offence with that statement.


I have NO problem with gay or interracial marriages or love making. Neither one is my cup of tea and I’m perfectly content feeling that way, on all matters in this paragraph.


I don’t condemn or dislike anyone involved in the above affairs. As a matter of fact, I have some very close friends, male and female, that are guy. I also have friends that are in or have been involved in, interracial relationships. Such is the world now a days, so get on board with it.


I do have a problem with rape, child abuse (in any form) and any actions against someone’s will. I’m also not a fan bestiality. I think all of these are perverted and go way beyond the scope sexual deviation.



Chester the Molester


I take offense to her statement, because I am a man and I like women. I don’t have the money to frequent strip bars, but I have in the past. According to this very rude comment, I am considered pervy. I couldn’t disagree more with her derogatory pigeonholing and it’s insulting, that I might be considered pervy, because I like women.


Rant over!!!