Chapter 14

Dad trying to pose cousin Roger Dan, me and Dennis while at Lake Heyburn in Okla. You'll hafta read about it. Oh, yes you do.

“Oklahoma here we come!”

I got baptized in the summer of ’61 immediately before the family’s yearly two-week vacation trip to Bristow, Oklahoma. I’d like to say I got baptized due to my love for Jesus. But, it wasn’t love so much as it was fear of dying.

The way I was raised, without baptism you were headed straight for hell in the proverbial basket. With it, you had about a 50-50 chance of making it to heaven. Baptism just gave you a chance to earn heaven. You really had to fight hard for grace. You couldn’t earn if you committed the sins of thinking bad stuff, doing bad stuff or not doing enough good stuff. I figured my chances of heaven were more 20-80. Too many of my thoughts came straight from hell.

So, back the Oklahoma trip… a 550-mile nighttime drive mostly over a two-lane HW 75. One lane coming and one going. Hills and curves all over the place. And, did I mention that Dad was driving? Meant to throw that in. No, I figured there was a chance that the trip might kill us. Wanted to give myself a chance of not going to hell.

Dad had an eight-minute follow time for slow drivers. It’s important that you know that. There would be a hill approaching with the double yellow line down the center of the road. We could see a glow from headlights coming up the rise. At the five-minute mark, Dad would pull out just a ways to see if there was a chance he could make it. He’d gun the engine and at the last minute pull back behind the poking driver.

But, at the eight-minute mark, the man was gone… taking us with him. We could see lights just about ready to top the hill or round the curve. It didn’t matter. Dad was off to the races. We were in the southbound lane headed north, leaving a fat trail of black exhaust behind. The four of us in the back hunkered down. We shielded our eyes against what was coming. It wouldn’t do enough to just close your eyes. You had to cover your head with your arms. Oh, and you had to pray. Before the baptism, the prayer would’ve done me no good, but, in the summer of ’61, prayers might help me. That was the hope, anyway.

The near death passing experiences were really the only bad part of the Oklahoma drive. Oh, that and the cramped feeling at the four-hour period. We didn’t do much yelling at one another when Dad was in the car. We never whined to Mom, ‘cause Dad wouldn’t have tolerated it. No, we just slugged and pinched one another whenever someone infringed on our territory. Tried to do it quietly.

This was before the freeways were completed. President Eisenhower started the process, but few of the roads were complete in time for many of our trips. There were no loops around any towns back then.

If it was after 10:00 p.m. when we came to a town, most of the stop lights would be blinking yellow on 75. The town was deader than dead. Occasionally, you might see a cop car parked beside one of the redbrick buildings that were prominent in about every town we went through.

I remember one time, Dad stopped at a 24 hour dinner. You didn’t see many of those in small towns back then. There was one car parked outside of this one. Dad was getting sleepy, so he and Larry got out for coffee. Mom and us kids stayed in the car. Susan, Dennis, Jill and me in the back.

The two oldest kids got a window seat. That meant that Jill and I sat in the middle on either side of the hump. Before front-wheel drive, all cars had a big hump on the floor of the backseat. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the hump was used to allow room for the driveshaft. (the big pipe that led from the transmission up front to the rear wheels)

The hump was actually an asset if there were only two people sitting in the back. It pretty much established the border between which you couldn’t put your feet. Without it, you foot might hit the sibling next to you. That could lead to only bad stuff.

When four people sat in the back, the hump didn’t serve as anything but a massive hindrance to comfort. If you sit in the middle, you have to sit your feet on the hump so that your knees meet your chin. And, when you get real tired, you can’t kneel on the floorboard and lay your head on the backseat. Only those with window seats could do that. A trip was really the pits when you sat in the middle.

As soon as Dad and Larry left the car for the diner, we fired away at Mom. “Mom, Susan pinched me for being on her side, and I couldn’t help it. I don’t know where her side is. Mine either, for that matter!” – “Mom, would you ask Dad to stop and get us a Coke?” – “Mom, would you tell Dad to warn us before he spits tobacco out the window? We’re getting drenched back here.”

I may have mentioned that Dad started chewing tobacco at the age of seven. I never remember him sitting down somewhere without an empty bean can or coke bottle to spit in. On a trip with the whole family, it was hard to use a can or a bottle. Mom, Larry and Alan were in the front seat with him, so any time he lifted the can to his mouth, he’d elbow Mom in the face. So, he just started spitting out the window. When anyone spits tobacco juice out of a moving car the stuff forms a massive spray. If the window in the backseat was down, which it always was on a hot summer night, the two people nearest the window got sprayed.

By the time we made to Grandma’s house the side of the Biscayne was covered in tobacco juice. Just looked nasty. Dad never had to tell me not to chew tobacco. All I needed was his example to see what a filthy habit it was.

It was trips like this that really made me envy Larry. The lucky duck. I knew there would never come a time when I’d be able to sit up front with Dad, away from the tobacco spit. I’d never be able to get coffee with him in the café. And, I’d have to wait for Susan to leave home before I could graduate to window seat. The pecking order in the Hayter family was the pits. Absolute pits. I was the third kid from the bottom. I’d never achieve frontseat status. Once an Untouchable…

Eventually, Dad and Larry came back from the diner. Dad was refreshed and ready to go. Mom wouldn’t pass along any of our requests… except the one about the warning before he spit. – “I can’t talk when I need to spit, so how can I warn anybody? One of you jakelegs back there needs to stay awake to watch when I move my head to the window.” Like we weren’t already doing that. So, on we drove through the night.

I liked to study the few lights across the distant fields. It was usually so dark out that any interior light from a home would really stand out. I’d wonder what the people in the house were doing at that late hour. I couldn’t imagine anyone even living out in that desolate an area. What would it have been like if we were raised in the country? Maybe Dad would get Dennis and me horses. He’d have us help roundup the cows. We would hunt and fish and have a great time. That’s the stupid kind of stuff I’d think about on trips.

We usually made it to Bristow right at sunup. We were always one tired, sweaty crew. The ones who were fortunate enough to be able to kneel down on the floor to sleep had black legs from their knees down. We didn’t have floor mats, just a black covering on the floor of the car. We looked like we were right out of a Charles Dickens story.

The sight of the grubby lookin’ Hayter kids disembarking from the backseat of the ol’ Biscayne would bring fear and dread to most people. Normal people. But Mom’s folks always seemed genuinely glad to see us. And, you wanna know something? I’m not sure they ever knew exactly when we were coming. I asked Mom about that, and she said she never remembered calling them to let ‘em know. Maybe it was a mentioned in a letter, but she couldn’t remember. They knew it would be in the early summer and that we’d stay two weeks. And, they acted like they loved having us. Makes no sense.

If you can believe this, my cousin Marsha told me that the whole Teegarden family looked forward to the Hayter visit. They knew it would be an excuse for everyone to get together for meals and visits and short trips. For two weeks out of the year, the Teegardens and Hayters mingled big time. As I look back now, I see that we had a blast. However, there were many moments during our stay that I distinctly remember being bored to near coma.

The Teegarden family. Left to right, standing -- Bertha, Edna, Dorothy, Elsie (Mom), Paulene, Vera. Seated -- Ross, Grandpa, Grandma, Leodis (Bud)

You may not realize, but Bristow is a part of the Porch Swing Triangle. There are more porch swings per capita in the Bristow, Kellyville, Drumright triangle than at any other place on the planet. Possibly the universe.

Oklahoma society revolved around the porch swing. And, the fly swatter. You had to have a good swatter.

Have you ever seen a porch that beckoned? “Hey, you. Come here and have a sit?” Grandma’s porch was like that. It stretched over most of the front of the house, stopping only where the ground did a nosedive toward the driveway. The porch was where children and grownups alike spent most of their time.

The kids stayed on the porch a lot ‘cause of the swing. Grandpa built the best porch swing in the state. When you’ve got the best porch swing in Oklahoma, you’ve got the best swing there is.

Did you know that each porch swing makes a different sound? Has it’s own fingerprint, you might say. Grandpa’s swing didn’t squeak. It made more of a deep, round, rubbing sound as the chain skipped back and forth across the hook. It was a big hook. Had to be to handle all the abuse the swing took. (Another little tidbit you might not have known. You cannot swing high enough in a porch swing that your feet will hit the ceiling. You can do it in a computer simulation, but it can’t be done in real life. The Hayter kids would know.)

It is impossible for six kids to be anywhere near a porch swing without getting yelled at. Newton proved that. Eventually, one of the adults would holler and we’d stop. Grandma and Grandpa never yelled. In fact, they never said a negative thing to one of the Hayter kids. That’s partly because they were so nice, and partly ‘cause Mom yelled before the thought crossed anyone else’s mind.

“Mark, come here!” Whop! -- “I’m sorry, Mom! Uh, swinging too high again, right? Uh, Mom, I just lost my place. Would you tell Jill to get out of the swing?”

Yeah, Mom would do some serious swatting, but Grandma and Grandpa just stayed nice. Whether we were playing in Grandpa’s huge garden, cranking on the knife sharpening grinder on the back porch, or hiding in the coolest room connecting closet in the world, Grandma and Grandpa never told us “No!”, “Stop!”, or “Put that down!” They were androids set in the “absolute peace” mode. You had to love ‘em.

A watermelon feast at Aunt Vera's house. Standing left to right, Mom, Lynda, cousin Claudia, Uncle Laurence, Dad and Larry. Cousin Roger Dan is the standing kid to the left. Jill has her back to us and Susan is seated. Dad was in a great mood.

At night, grandma’s porch became the busiest place in Bristow. (Not saying a lot, I know.) The rest of the Teagarden family would come over and we’d sit and talk for hours. I’ll bet you could hear the laughter and the rubbing of the porch swing chain for two blocks. It was the noise of family… the way it gets when all is well.

Dad was always in the best behavior when we were in Oklahoma. When he was in a good mood, he was the best person to be around. And, in Bristow, he seldom fell into the dark funk that we readily recognized back home. He had the best sense of humor and best stories. I remember sitting on that porch and watching others look at my daddy while he joked about something, or told some old story that had never surfaced during his story telling moments back in Texas. Everyone would be smiling and watching intently at the man speak. And, laugh. Some of the best laughter I ever heard was on Grandma and Grandpa’s porch.

When it got late… real late, the cars would begin to exit the yard. Grandpa used his yard as a parking lot. People didn’t mind you driving into to their yard in Bristow. The yard was level to the dirt road, and it had grass like you would find on a putting green, only tougher. Grandpa kept it clipped with one of those engineless push-mowers like they used on “Leave it to Beaver.” You’d pull back a step and then march forward three. Grandpa let Dennis and me mow even when there was nothing to mow. Did I mention that I loved the man?

Some of the best times were had at Heyburn Dam. Heyburn was a lake near Bristow. We always called it Heyburn Dam. Don’t know that I ever saw the dam.

Heyburn had the muddiest bottom of any body of water that foot had ever tread. It’s mentioned in “National Geographics.” In most lakes, you’ll find some mushy places, but there will be solid ground in areas. Not so at Heyburn. It was muddiroo. Without an inner tube, water time was not all that enjoyable. Fortunately, Grandpa always had inner tubes for us.

The silliest I ever saw my Dad act was in an innertube. He’d sink his rear way down in the tube, so about all you could see was arms, head and legs. Then he’d get a mouth full of water and spit it out in a high stream. I don’t know how he did it, and believe me I tried. Spitting a stream of Lake Heyburn water cannot be the healthiest of fun activities. But, I think it was worth it when Dad did it. We’d laugh till we cried looking at our Daddy act silly.

At one time, he got a bunch of us kids on a big rock and told us to act like we were real muscled up body builders. Someone shot a photo of us posing with Dad. A lot of pictures taken during an Oklahoma vacation.

I don't think I ever came to grasp with what we were doing. That's me on the left, Roger in the middle and Dennis on the right. Susan is seated on the rock. Dennis was always the one who could do things right.

I do wish someone had taken at least one photo of our sleeping arrangements at Grandma’s house. It was a rectangular two-bedroom house, with the bedrooms and kitchen all lengthwise on the back half. The living room stretched all across the front. A better use of space I can’t imagine.

Mom and Dad slept in the spare room, and Grandpa and Grandma slept in the room nearest the kitchen. The weird closet I mentioned earlier separated the two rooms. You could enter the closet in one room, take a right and eventually come out in the other bedroom. Just as cool as it could be. The closet was wide enough to have a walkway with shelving and hanging rods on both sides. It was dark and scary. A perfect hiding place, if anybody ever cared to look for us. Unfortunately, no one did. Out of sight, out of mind. Just sad as it could be.

So, while the adults were sleeping in the bedrooms, the rest of us slept on pallets on the living room floor. Oh, yeah, Grandma had a fold down bed that Larry or Susan got to use. I’m thinking Susan and Jill. Could be wrong. But the rest of us were on pallets of quilts. A lot of quilts. The front door and windows were all open in the living room. Nothing but a thin screen separated us from whatever was outside. I don’t mind telling you it got pretty spooky some nights. Particularly those nights we went to bed after hearing cousin Dale tell some scary stories. Stories of an insane asylum just behind the railroad tracks. There was always a crazed killer on the loose. About once a week, so kid would turn up missing. The only thing that would slow an insane killer was a werewolf. There were plenty out there, let me tell you. Full moon? Meant nothing to them. That was so good to know.

Occasionally at night the wind would blow the porch swing and we’d hear the low grind of the chains. Dennis and I would scoot closer to Larry’s pallet. Then we’d pull the cover over our heads. Scary times, let me tell you.

Strange, but Mom never lost a kid while in Oklahoma. We survived every night. The next morning we’d have the best breakfast in the world. Grandma was a wonder with biscuits and gravy. We’d hear Mom and Dad laughing with Grandma and Grandpa as they sat around the kitchen table. The kids would be munching out on the big dinning room table. It was called the dinning room, but it was really just the far end of the living room. I never understood dining rooms that really aren’t rooms.

Most mornings after breakfast, Dad would drive over and visit his Dad. On some visits he’d bring us along with him. I wrote about that in an earlier chapter. I mentioned how Grandpa Hayter started crying when we he knew we were leaving. He didn’t do that in the earlier years. Only a year or two before he died. Maybe he was trying to embrace the moment, knowing he didn’t have many more moments to be with his son and his family. I hate like everything that we so dreaded our visits with that dear man. Not one of my better times.

By the time we did leave Bristow, I was always ready to go. I think Dad was too. You can have just so much fun. And, you can be on good behavior for just so long.

Though we looked forward to the trip back, it never was as fun as the trip up there. Weird how that works. Might be due to what we had to look forward to.

Does it get much worse than unpacking from a trip? Oh, what a dread. You feel like you’ve been coated in grainy butter. And, you’re just beat. But, you’ve got to unload stuff and pile up the dirty clothes and clean the mess out of the backseat. I don’t know how Mom did it all. I honestly don’t remember helping all that much. I remember laying on the floor or the couch and just taking a nap. Then in the afternoon, Dennis and I would touch base with the gang on the block. So much to catch up on.

And, Dad? He usually took a shower then slept for a few hours. Then he was off to work at the plant. Same o’, same o’. For the next few days, he was not a man to cross. His vacation time for the year was over. It was hard for him to see past what he had to do. Who hasn’t been there?

Epilog to Grandma and Grandpa Teegarden’s house:

Currently, there is no house at 810 South Walnut Street. The home was sold not too long after Grandpa Teegarden died in 1976. Grandma had passed in ’73. Our family drove by to view the place during the summer of ‘99. Each of us could not believe how small the house and yard looked. The wood-siding had given way to vinyl. That just took so much away from the folksiness of the place. The yard didn’t look like there was room to park half the cars that used to sit there during one of our visits. And, the porch! It was miniature. It’s like the entire place had become the incredible shrinking homestead.

A few of us visited again in ’03. When we drove by, the place was nothing more than a pile of burned wood and melted plastic. The owners had suffered a disaster. We don’t know what caused the fire, but whatever it was totaled the place. It even took out a couple of the trees that had shaded the place.

To me, it was kind of like when Richard Boone died. The news hit me hard. While he was alive I knew another “Have Gun Will Travel” episode, though highly unlikely, was not beyond the realm of possibilities. When Boone died, so did Paladin.

That’s the way I viewed Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I knew we’d never visit the place again… have family gatherings on the porch or spend the night on pallets in the living room. But, if one of us got rich we could by it and try to relive old times. The thought was not beyond the realm of belief. Well, it’s now way past the “belief” phase. The fire that took Grandma and Grandpa’s house delivered but one more dose of reality. Reality doses are never easy to take. Not for me.

Chapter 13

"The shoe"

What is the most scared you’ve ever been? No, no. Please don’t tell me. That was rhetorical. I really don’t have time to hear your story. I was just leading into my scariest time. And, as Dad would say, “I’m driving this team of mules.”

There was never a question of who was leading the Hayter family’s team of mules. Dad was the muleskinner, the trail boss the head honcho. He was also the driving force behind my scariest moment.

I was nine at the time… and not just because it rhymed. We were living on 1628 Camille Street. It was a Wednesday. About 7:10 in the p.m. Larry, Dennis, Jill, Alan and I were gathered around the TV in the living room. I was on the wooden floor, stomach down, elbows propped so my hands could support my head at the chin. Got the picture?

“Wagon Train” was on. At no time in our family’s history had we ever watched an entire episode of “Wagon Train.” It came on a Wednesday night. Church night. Services started at 7:30, a scriptural time. Our church was a 20-minute drive away, so ten minutes is all we had for Wagon Train. A smarter group of kids would’ve never started a program knowing they’d miss the last 50 minutes. But, these were desperate times.

Mom started yelling at 7:04. “Okay, everybody up! Some of you aren’t even dressed yet. Let’s go!” -- Nothing. Mom usually didn’t get serious till the third, fourth yell. We knew that. Important thing was, Indians had surrounded the wagon train out on the dessert. Some of the worst land you’d ever seen. I have no idea what the Indians were even doing out there.

It’s 7: 07. “I’m not going to tell you again! You kids get up and get in the car!” Second warning. Everything was cool. Ward Bond just sent Robert Horton off to get the cavalry. The Indians continued to ride in a circle around the wagons, getting picked off one at a time. I would’ve given them more sense then that. Fortunately, there were a lot of ‘em. Some of ‘em got killed more than once. “Hey, that’s the same guy who fell off backwards a second ago!”

7:10 “Okay, that’s it! TV off!” Third call. Sounded like she might have a fourth left in her, so we didn’t budge. Well, Larry budged. He was the oldest, and apparently didn’t care all that much for “Wagon Train.”

The fourth warning never came. About 10 seconds after Mom left the room, Dad came in from… we never knew where. What was that all about? Surely Dad wasn’t going to church. He seldom went Wednesday nights. No, this was just weird. Something wasn’t right. Dad walked over to the TV and turned it off. Didn’t ask, didn’t yell… just turned it off. Then he said, “Everybody in the car. We’re going to be late church.”

Hokey Smokes! Caught us completely off balance. We were bumping into each other, tripping on the throw rug, and trying to get traction on that oak floor. Jill and Al headed outside to the car. Dennis and I ran for the bedroom. We weren’t dressed for church. I needed a shirt, pants, socks and shoes. I came out of my shorts while running down the hallway. (Shorts, not underwear) I grabbed my jeans off the bed and hopped in ‘em. Dennis was already headed out the backdoor. You would have to visit a different solar system to find a faster dresser than Dennis. He was the best.

The family was in the car waiting for only me. Dad was the worst waiter in the world. I learned from the best. I just grabbed a shirt off the floor, found two socks and my shoes and then raced to the car. The back right-side door was open, so I dove in. Dennis was struggling to get the door shut just as Dad backed out of the driveway. It was not a good time to be a Hayter kid. One-second things were calm as could be. Oh, the Indians were taking a hit, but we were doing fine. All of a sudden we’re scrambling for our lives. -- “Love is what we were born with. Fear is what we learned here.” Shakespeare is the first one to say that. He must’ve been in the backseat with me.

As soon as Dad had the car pointed churchward he started his lecture. I started getting dressed. Took me a couple of tries to get my shirt on frontward. – “I want you kids to start minding your mother. Do you hear me?” (Yes, sir. Yes, Daddy. Won’t happen again.) “Your mother shouldn’t have to tell you more than once to move.” – Okay, I’ve found both socks, and am about to—there, my feet are socked.

“If I ever catch you – any of you – pulling a stunt like you did tonight—“ Okay, right shoe on and… where’s my other shoe?” – “Your mother works her fingers to the bone trying to get you kids to—“ My shoe! Where’s my other shoe?

I didn’t want to create a disturbance while Dad was yelling at us, so I just kept feeling around on the floor. Finally, the oration ended. I looked over at Dennis. I didn’t have to say a word. Dennis recognized the “I can’t find my shoe” look. Do I need to tell you again how close we were?

I punched Jill and whispered. “Are you hiding my shoe?” She wasn’t. I looked over at Al. He was just a nubbin’. Totally useless to Shoeless Mark. -- “Shoe? You can’t have my shoe? Mother, Mark wants my shoe!” -- No, don’t even get him started.

We were five minutes into the ride when I had to face the fact that the shoe had never left the house. The last 15 minutes of the drive was three hours on the terror clock. I was doomed. There was no way out of this. Dad had just yelled at us for not minding Mom. It was our selfishness that was making us late. If I were to open my mouth and ask to go back for my shoe… well, I don’t know what would’ve happened.

I didn’t honestly think Dad would kill me. I wouldn’t have bet against it, but it just wasn’t a safe wager. What was the worst thing? He could let me out of the car and make me walk back. No, he wouldn’t do that. He could stop the car and spank me. That was a possibility. He could wait and spank me at church. Yeah, that’s the ticket. That’s what he would do. I’d be crying in the parking lot, and the preacher would dismiss people so they could go see what was happening. Realizing what my punishment would be, I opted not to say anything till we got to church. No use him having 15 minutes to yell at me before spanking.

This was bad. I had never been so frightened. Hey, that’s what started chapter, isn’t it? So, naturally, I started crying. Quietly. Only those in the backseat could tell. Jill started crying too. Dennis wasn’t real happy, but he didn’t cry. He was made of sterner stuff. He wasn’t brave or noble enough to give me his left shoe, but he was tough. This would be just one more example of Mark being the dumb one. No big shocker for Dad. Oh, yeah, I might survive this.

We eventually pulled into the parking lot of the South Houston church of Christ. A more legalistic congregation was not to be found south of the Oklahoma border. That’s not exactly pertinent to anything right here, but I just thought I’d mention it. Dad working with others on the construction of the church in South Houston.

The minute Dad switched off the key, the backseat emptied. Nearly. Dennis and Jill were already at the church house door. Alan grabbed Mom’s hand and Dad went ahead of ‘em to talk to Cecil Webb, who had also shown up a little late.

Me? Well, I decided to try out a strategy that hit me about two minutes earlier. It was brilliant. I gave it a 30 percent chance of working. Those were more than cceptable odds. What else did I have? The idea was for Dad or Mom not to notice me. I’d enter the building and limp straight to Bible Class. If anyone asked, I had hurt my foot. Sprained ankle. After class, I’d sit on the last pew, and as soon as the final “Amen” was uttered, I’d make a beeline for the car. As long as my Bible school teacher didn’t confront Mom about my gnarled ankle, it just might work. It had to work.

And, it would’ve worked had it not been for Mom. She was halfway to the building when she turned to see what was keeping me. There I was one shoe on, one shoe off. Before she could even react I let it fly, “Mother, please don’t tell Daddy. I’ll just say that I hurt my foot and no one has to know that I forgot my shoe.”

I’m asking you, what is wrong with that? No big deal. No injury, no foul. I have no idea how that relates, but it sounds almost applicable. Well, I don’t know if it was because we were at church and Mom didn’t want to lie about my foot, or it was because we had been such stinkers in not obeying her about turning off the TV. Whatever it was, it all came down like the fist of God.

“Honey! You’re going to need to come here.” Dad was “Honey.” At no time did Mom ever call him “Faris.” Not in our presence, anyway. Maybe never. I don’t know. He was just Honey. Even if she was mad at him, she’d call him “Honey.” And, he called her “Honey,” too. Not “Honey 2” That might’ve gotten him in trouble. – Oh, forget that. I was just stalling for what happened next.

By this time, I’m bawling my head off. There’s no muffled cry going on. I’m way past hiding anything. Life as I knew it was over. I was the idiot child who forgot his shoe and was too much of a baby to tell Dad about it. Does it get lower than that? I didn’t think so either.

“He forgot his shoe.” That’s all Mom had to say. Dad looked down at me and just shook his head. He didn’t yell, or slap me or grab me by the arm and hustle me to the other side of the parking lot so he could whip me. He just shook his head and said, “I’ll take him home, and come back for you when church is over. Get in the car.” The “Get in the car” part was addressed to me. The other part was for Mom.

I hadn’t planned on that. What an idiot I’d been! Dad was going to take me home and spank me so my pathetic cry wouldn’t disturb the congregation. I started bawling even louder. Up until the moment I entered the front seat… and plopped my buns right across from Dad. Had I gotten into the backseat, I don’t know what he would’ve done. I had never been in such a horrid situation before, so I really didn’t know the proper protocol. Figured the front passenger side was the most proper. Figured it’d just make him madder if he had to reach back to smack me.

As soon I shut the door, I cried less loudly. I didn’t want plant the seed for the ol’ “If you don’t shut up I’m gonna give you something to cry about!” line. I had heard it a few thousand times. Not from Dad, though. He wasn’t much of one for threats. He just more or less reacted to bad behavior. -- “I hate rude behavior in a child. Won’t tolerate it.” – One of those kind of disciplinarians.

So, I tried to keep the volume of my crying down. It turned into one of those cries where I couldn’t catch my breath between sobs. Dad said nothing. He just started the car and we left the parking lot. For a split second I wondered what Dennis, Jill and Larry were thinking. Alan thought nothing. “The creep was after my shoe, Mother. What was that all about?”

Dennis and I were in the same Bible class. What would he think when I didn’t show. Would he be scared for me? Would he pray for me? – By the way, back then we were so legalistic that we thought God too big and too busy to worry about kids being scared about forgotten shoes or about pending spankings. He was too busy getting upset over big stuff. Kids didn’t count for much.

So, I knew God was on Dad’s side. Who could even begin to love a kid as stupid and bad as I was? It was going to be justifiable homicide. And God would be cheering Dad on. I didn’t blame Him. In fact, I was halfway ready for it. For the last 20 minutes I had experienced mental hell. I was ready for a change. Physical hell? Bring it on. Anything was better than what my mind was doing to me.

We were about halfway home before Dad said anything. And, he didn’t even yell when he said it. He didn’t even look at me when he said it. I peeked over at him, though. I thought that’s what I’d better do. Like I say, it was new ground for me. The biggest thing I had ever done wrong.

Looking straight ahead, and in a voice as caring as could be, my daddy said, “I can’t believe you’re that afraid of me.” He said it more to himself than to me.

I had no answer for Dad. He had never abused us or anything close to that. We were just all scared of him when he got mad. I don’t really know why. There was just something that brought fear. Fear of disappointing him as much as anything else. I guess. For me, it seemed I could do nothing else but disappoint him.

And, sure enough, there I was doing it again. I thought I should in some way respond to his question or comment. What was it? “I can’t believe you’re that afraid of me.” What kind of response could a nine-year-old come up with? A stupid nine-year-old. I said the only thing I could think of. Between my crying gasps I said, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Dad looked over at me this time. He shook his head and said, “No.” That was it. No. What did it mean? For a second I almost asked him. Oh, who am I kidding? No, way was I going to ask him to explain. He wasn’t yelling at me, and I could tell he wasn’t going to spank me. Why rock the boat asking for an explanation? Besides, I was halfway thinking that Dad might cry if he started explaining to me what he meant by “No.” If I had seen my daddy cry, I sure enough would’ve been scared.

When we got home, Dad walked over to the fridge and pulled out two RC Colas. He opened one and handed it to me. A whole one. I had just stepped off onto the planet “Weird.” I hadn’t had a whole RC in… well I never had a whole RC. Dad opened the other for himself and then he said, “Okay, we’ve got a little time before church is over, so what say we watch “Ozzie and Harriet”?

“Ozzie and Harriet.” I had never seen it before, because it came on Wednesday nights during church. I had heard about it, but… wow! I was just way too young to take it all in. I kept thinking something was going to happen to bring the terror back.

Dad and I sat on the couch together and laughed together. It was my most favorite time with Dad. It was a miracle. What I thought was going to be the worst spanking of my life, ended up being a treasured moment with my father. Maybe God wasn’t too big or too busy to worry about kids. Even the really dumb ones.

After the Nelsons signed off, Dad said that we’d best go get the family. He also said, “Don’t forget your shoe, Son.” When Dad called me “Son”, I knew things were okay between me and him.

Everybody stepped gingerly to the car as we drove up. They quietly got in. Dennis and Jill checked me out to see if there were any visible scars. I just smiled and nodded. Then we all smiled big when Dad said, “What say we go to Dairy Mart for dipped cones?”

Four “Oh, boys!” erupted from the backseat. Larry just said, “Sounds good to me.” Mom, who was sitting in the middle between Larry and Dad, nuzzled up just a little closer to Dad.

I don’t guess it gets any sappier than that. But, I don’t care. Like I say, it turned out to be one of my best moments. Perhaps the closest moment I ever had with Dad.

It made no sense when I tried to explain to Dennis what happened. How could it? Somehow I had stepped off onto the planet Weird. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought that God took a break in His busy schedule to show a father and son a hint of Himself. Back then I didn’t think it important enough in the whole scheme of things, for God to mess with something as small as that. Back then.

Dad and me