The Garage

I am looking out of the opening of my garage while taking a break from whatever I have been working on. As always, there is the broken Corvette setting on the left of the driveway, just sitting patiently, waiting for me to put her back together again. Her tires are slightly low on air, just another sign that she hasn't been driven in a while.

The blue skies roll over head, and a nice cool breeze travels down the long roads, through the trees in the yard, and over the drive, teasing me to load up the girls and head out on an afternoon drive. But I am still occupied for a bit with the work in the garage. Just as I start back on the job, I hear my oldest daughter yell for me. She wants me to help her drag out the make shift ramp we cobbled together the day before and put it in the yard. She and her little sister want to ride her 4-wheeler, the Power Wheel, and their bikes off of it, so I do. Then I drag a chair out to the front of the garage as if I had just gotten front row tickets to the greatest show ever. I watch as she flips the key and turns the choke on the carb while pulling the throttle back and hitting the ignition switch with the easy, thoughtless action she has when tying her shoes. Awesome. As her face lights up with awe as if she had just struck life into Frankenstein, the motor fires to life as she adjusts the choke back a bit. She straps on her little helmet with the pink cross bones and “Bad Kitty” skull painted on the back, and off she goes. She rips through the yard, almost fearless, as she travels around the yard and back again, eating up the lawn and throwing a bit of dirt and grass out from the rear tires. As she approaches the ramp, she slows down a bit with uncertainty, possibly recalling the time she learned how fast is too fast. That time she took a corner too fast and rolled her 4-wheeler. Like father, like daughter.

She hits the ramp, and I see the uncertainty fall wayside as she punches the throttle again, and blasts off of the ramp full speed. Then here comes my youngest in her Mustang Power Wheel running as fast as it will go up and over the ramp as well. She knows her dad is setting back, watching them from afar, and she gets braver and rides her bike over the ramp. Each of them take turns, egging the other one on.

I find myself grinning from ear to ear, and I can't help but think about the times my brother and I had when we were their ages - Starry, my oldest, at 10 years old, and Tori, my youngest, at 6 years old – and the times we had with our mini bikes and 4-wheelers. I also can't help but think of the bond between siblings, and how strong it is, whether it is the bond between brothers or the bond between sisters.

Final Draft The Corvette

When I was 32, my brother died of cancer. He had been battling cancer since he was 15, and he finally succumbed to it after 12 years, which were 11 and a half years longer than he was told he would live. A month before Jason passed away, he came to me and told me that he was leaving me some money in his will. I was touched, but didn't want it. All I wanted was my brother. But he insisted. He said that he knew that there was something I had always wanted, and he wanted me to be able to get it. He was right. I had always dreamed of owning a Corvette, but it was just a dream. I was married to my high school sweetheart, and we had 2 little girls, a mortgage, and I worked 2 jobs to pay the bills, as my wife didn't work. It was just too impractical. Sure my wife would have a place to sit, but I was pretty sure that a child in a car seat is required by law to be inside the car. So Jason told me, “When I am gone, I want you to take the money I am leaving you, and I want you to get a Corvette. I know you would never do it otherwise, and I want you to have it.”

At the time, I didn't realize that I was so close to losing my brother. But prepared or not, he went into the hospital 3 weeks later. What the doctors first thought was pneumonia turned out to be a tumor that had grown in his left lung, and he was riddled with the evil, out-of-control cancer cells. Losing my brother was the most painful experience of my life. But I did do what he asked of me. I took the money he left me, and much to my wife's dismay, I bought a 1993 40^th Anniversary Corvette. And when I got it tagged, I got personalized license plates that read “Lil Bro.” I loved that car. For me, it was like a connection that only my brother and I had. In that car I would remember all of the trouble he and I used to get into. I remembered the time we raced a Mustang down Highway 13 and blew its doors off, laughing and flipping them “the bird” over our shoulders as we passed them doing 140 miles per hour. I remembered us burning our tires off, and joking around, picking on each other. The Corvette helped me to remember my brother in the best possible light, and I just loved that car.

A year later, I got a knock on the door of the home I shared with my wife and children. It was my neighbors, and they told me they had to talk to me. What they told me nearly stopped my heart, and nearly doubled me over like a punch to the gut. They told me that while I was working 2 jobs to keep my wife and children in the expensive house that we loved, that my wife, who refused to work, was sleeping with the 54 year old, 300 pound, RICH neighbor across the street. She was leaving my little girls alone during their naps, and stealing away to meet him while I was gone. To make matters worse, they had bragged about it to the very neighbors that had come to warn me, and they had hatched a plan to have me thrown out. Unfortunately, the warning came too late. I was thrown out of my home, ripped away from my little girls, and the only life I had ever known.

I was devastated. I missed my daughters, and I was betrayed and angry. Everything that I loved was taken from me, and just a year after I lost my brother. So I went a bit crazy for a while. I had been working since I was 16, had been with my wife since I was 15. I had been responsible my entire life, and now I was without anyone to answer to, and without any bills to pay. A friend of mine was going through a similar situation (his wife left him for another man, and he lost the house he built with his own hands, his son, and even his DOG!) and we decided to go and cut loose a little. I started to go downtown with him, to hang out at the bars and have drinks. We didn't go to try to meet women. We were both pretty done with women at that point. We just went to let loose a little, and complain to each other what the latest demands were of the lawyers and what our soon to be ex's were trying to pull.

And then it happened. I went out with my friend, and had more than a couple of drinks.

Then I left the bar, and my friend, and went out in the Corvette, looking for a race. Boy did I find one. I pulled up to the stop light at National going west on Chestnut, and what should pull up beside me but a Trans Am. He revved his motor, I revved my motor, and the race was on. When the light turned green, we floored it. I just knew my 'Vette had his Trans Am beat, even when my tires broke loose the first time. I let off the gas for a moment, then slammed it into second and floored it again. It is at this point that things are a little fuzzy. But I do know that somehow I managed to jump the curb, and roll my beloved Corvette over onto the drivers side. It only took me a second to drag myself out of my poor car, and then I guess the adrenaline took over, because I pushed my car back onto its wheels. Once I did that, I realized that I was looking up at the fountain that faces Chestnut at Ozark Technical Community College. I jumped into my car, and tried to limp it home, but less than a block from OTC I saw flashing lights in my rear-view mirror, and my stomach just plummeted. The officers that pulled me over knew that I had been racing, and of course they gave me a Breathalyzer test. This is where fortune smiled on me. I took the test, and came in half a point UNDER the limit. I recall babbling something about what was going on with my wife, and the pending divorce, and the officers seemed to relax a bit, especially since, according to the Breathalyzer, I was legally not drunk. But they wouldn't let me drive my car home. In fact, they made me call my parents, who had to come out in the middle of the night to bring me and my wrecked car home. I was given a ticket for Careless and Imprudent Driving, and sent on my way with my dream car badly damaged and a boat load of fines for being an idiot.

That night I didn't just come close to losing my dream car. I came close to a lot of different disasters. I could have kidded myself, and called it bad luck. I could have told myself that it was the first time I had ever gotten behind the wheel of a car with alcohol in me, so I should just go on and not worry about it. But the fact was, I could have died that night. And my daughters would have had to live without their daddy. Or I could have gotten a DUI that night, and lost my daughters in a completely different way. My ex-wife would have used that to turn me into an every other weekend dad.  And even though it makes me sick to even think about it, and even worse to see it in print, I could have killed someone that night, cut someone's life short and destroyed a family, lost my freedom and my daughters.  I broke the gift my brother gave me, but it was probably a good thing that things happened the way they did. I learned some valuable lessons. I have never gotten behind the wheel of a car again after having so much as a single beer. In fact, I barely touch alcohol anymore. I learned to better control my temper, since a bad temper can cause you to make bad decisions. I learned that one bad decision can cause you to lose everything that you care about.

I still have my Corvette, and she is still broken three years later. With two daughters to raise and child support to pay, and being a full time student, there is just not enough money for me to completely fix her yet. But I do what I can when I can. I would like to think my brother understands what happened, and is glad that I learned my lesson as quickly as I did. But he was always a smart-ass, and there is one thing that I know he would tell me if he was here. “Next time, Steven, you should invest in a better set of tires.”

Rough Draft

When I was 32, my brother died. He had been battling cancer since he was 15. A month before Jason passed away, he came to me and told me that he was leaving me some money. I didn't want it, I just wanted my brother. He said that he knew that there was something I had always wanted, and he wanted me to be able to get it. He was right. I had always dreamed of owning a Corvette. But I was married to my high school sweetheart, and we had 2 little girls, a mortgage, and I worked 2 jobs to pay the bills. It was just too impractical. So Jason told me, “When I am gone, I want you to take the money I am leaving you, and I want you to get a Corvette. I know you would never do it otherwise, and I want you to have it.”

At the time, I didn't realize that I was so close to losing my brother. But prepared or not, he went into the hospital 3 weeks later. What the doctors first thought was pneumonia turned out to be a tumor that had grown in his left lung, and he was riddled with the evil, out-of-control cancer cells. Losing my brother was the most painful experience of my life. But I did do what he asked of me. I took the money he left me, and I bought a Corvette. I loved that car. For me, it was like a connection that only my brother and I had. In that car I would remember all of the trouble he and I used to get into.

A year later, I got a knock on the door of the home I shared with my wife and children. It was my neighbors, and they told me they had to talk to me. They told me that while I was working 2 jobs to keep my wife and children in the expensive house that we loved, that my wife, who refused to work, was sleeping with the RICH neighbor across the street. She was leaving my little girls alone during their naps, and meeting him while I was gone. They had a plan to have me thrown out. Unfortunately, the warning came too late. I was thrown out of my home, ripped away from my little girls, and the only life I had ever known.

And then it happened. I went out with my friend, and had more than a couple of drinks.

Then I left the bar and my friend, and went out in the Corvette, looking for a race. I pulled up to the stop light at National going west on Chestnut, and what should pull up beside me but a Trans Am. When the light turned green, we floored it. Somehow I jumped the curb, and rolled my car over. It only took me a second to climb out of my car, and then I pushed my car back onto its wheels. I tried to drive home, but less than a block from OTC I saw flashing lights. The officers that pulled me over knew that I had been racing. I remember babbling something about what was going on with my wife, and the officers seemed to relax a bit. But they wouldn't let me drive my car home, even though I wasn't drunk. In fact, they made me call my parents. I was given a ticket, and sent on my way with a broken car and a bunch of fines for racing.

I could have kidded myself, and called it bad luck. I could have told myself that it was the first time I had ever gotten behind the wheel of a car with alcohol in me, so I should just go on and not worry about it. But the fact was, I could have died that night. And my daughters would have had to live without their daddy. Or I could have gotten a DUI that night, and lost my daughters in a completely different way. I broke the gift my brother gave me, but it was probably a good thing that things happened the way they did. I learned a valuable lesson. I learned that one bad decision can cause you to lose everything that you care about.

The Happenings of the Halls 2

The Happenings of the Halls 2

The blue haired guy was stalking the passageways seeking something to

devour – becoming more and more attracted to the humming illumination of

showcased calories, proteins, and fats clothed in multi-colored disguises of trickery,

pulling him in closer as they dangled strangely untouched yet in reach only by the use

of order of the item number punch board. As he becomes frenziedly sold on

pushing his bizarrely miniature hands deep into his strikingly chained and zippered

trousers, moving and scrounging hectically through the mosaic of receipts, pennies,

dimes and pocket-lint that has accumulated throughout the week, trying to beat the

class bell for the day, as this was all occurring, I found myself oddly possessed with

the verdict of this guy's junk-fuel choice. I swiveled my head in hopes of my body

trailing after, taking me out of this crazy Twilight-Zone T.V. show moment. I treaded

around the corner, never witnessing what he chose and discovering myself noting the

walls propping up snapshots of other students' obsessions and art, walls coated with

various electric outlets and people almost like they were adhered to these walls with

their music players, laptops, and chargers gobbling up electricity as if they were

livestock gorging on fields of grass. I witnessed couples drifting throughout the halls

and people with their pecking fingers texting, and faces of every sort of emotion

speaking without even opening their lips. Even the liquid coolers suspended on the

walls appeared to be a bit alive as they also drank electricity and then, with the

students drinking the water, it seemed, just for a bit, to be a trend or cycle. Electricity

bearing something physical only to be siphoned out or chosen by these oblivious students of everything surrounding them, the streaming pens and

paper being filled up by their creations and ideas, the shining EXIT lights, and the

warp of gray shine through the semi-transparent glass cubes making up sections of

the walls, shielding us from the outer elements of this edifice. Then I turned another

corner of the building, realizing with all the happenings of the halls that no one has

heard the singing of the worn out cooling motors in the vending machines, and the

annoying chopping of whatever medium is pulled through the maw of a three foot

multi-volt paper shredder that is chomping down paper quicker than you could tear

them out of your notebook. As it feasts, it almost seems like it wants to split away from

the wall and convert its diet in a bent, Stephen King kind of way. Then I venture

around one more corner, discovering myself soundly returning to class and pondering

for a minute of all I observed in just the uncomplicated square of a structure and its

passages.

The Happenings of the Halls

The Happenings of the Halls

The blue haired man was trolling the halls looking for something to consume –

becoming more and more drawn towards the humming glow of displayed calories,

proteins, and fats wrapped in multi-colored disguises of trickery, drawing him in closer

as they hung weirdly untouched yet in reach only by the use of command of the item

number punch board. As he becomes uncontrollably sold on shoving his abnormally

small hands deep into his overly chained and zippered pants moving and digging

frantically through the collage of receipts, pennies, dimes and pocket-lint that has

collected throughout the week, trying to beat the class bell for the day, as this was all

taking place, I found myself strangely engrossed with the outcome of this guy's junk-

fuel selection. I turned my head in hopes of my body following, putting me out of this

odd Twilight-Zone T.V. show moment. I walked around the corner, never seeing what

he selected and finding myself noticing the walls holding up photographs of other

students' interests and are, walls lined with multiple electric outlets and people almost

like they were attached to these walls with their music players, laptops, and chargers

eating up electricity as if they were livestock consuming fields of grass. I saw couples

strolling throughout the halls and people with their flailing fingers texting, and faces of

every sort of expression communicating without even opening their mouths. Even the

water boxes hung on the walls seemed to be a bit expressive as they also consumed

electricity and then, with the students consuming the water, it seemed, just for a bit, to

be a theme or cycle. Electricity producing something tangible only to be sucked out or

selected by these unaware students of everything around them, the flowing pens and

paper being filled up their their works and thoughts, the glowing EXIT lights, and the

refraction of gray light through the semi-transparent glass blocks making up parts of

the walls, protecting us from the outer elements of this building. Then I turned another

corner of the building, noticing with all the happenings of the halls that no one has

noticed the humming of the worn out cooling motors in the vending machines, and the

obnoxious shredding of whatever material passes through the teeth of a three foot

multi-volt paper shredder that is eating up paper faster than you could rip them out of

your notebook. As it devours, it almost seems like it wants to rip away from the wall

and change its diet in a twisted, Stephen King kind of way. They I turn one more

corner, finding myself safely returning to class and thinking for a moment of everything

I noticed in just the simplest square of a building and its halls.

I Believe....

I believe that family is the most important thing in the world. When you're

growing up, the first example of what it is to be a man or a woman comes from your

father or mother. Your parents teach you right from wrong. They teach you what

responsibility is. They teach you that hard work is important. They teach you how to

be polite, and act right in public. They teach you how to treat women, and how

women behave, if you are a boy, or how to treat men, and how men behave, if you

are a girl.

The next example on how to be a man or woman comes from your grandparents.

They teach you to respect the intelligence and wisdom of the old. They teach you to

listen, and to think about what you have heard. They teach you that sometimes the

old ways are the best ways. They teach you to find value in things that last the test of

time. They teach you that quality is better than quantity.

The third example of how to be a man is if you are lucky enough to have a brother.

That person teaches you the most important lessons you can learn. He teaches you

what it is to have a partner in crime. He teaches you what it is to be admired. He

teaches you what it is to be a role model. He teaches you how to fight. Then he

teaches you how to forgive. He teaches you that sometimes someone else can know

you better than you know yourself. He teaches you to protect someone, even if it

means that it's to your death.

If you lose your brother, parents, or grandparents, it teaches you how to grieve your loss 

with every part of you. It teaches you how to recover from that great loss, but

never to forget the lessons that person taught you. It teaches you that every memory,

good or bad, can be a treasure if someone you love is a part of it.

Nothing is more important than family. Your family shapes the person you grow up

into. And who you become, who you are, when you become a parent, is the reason

that family is the most important thing in the world. Because all of that influence has

prepared you for the closest, most loved, and most influential person in your family.

Your child. And when you first look at your daughter's face, she makes you

understand that everything your parents, grandparents, and your brother helped you to

learn and discover about yourself was all for this. To be a parent. To pass along all of

your experience to your little girl. To help her grow as a person and discover the world

not just like you did, but better than you did. And then, when she is old enough to

understand, you tell her how important family is. You see to it that she knows her

grandparents, her uncle, and her great-grandparents too if you are lucky. And if you

are not lucky, and you have lost one of these amazing people along the way, you

make sure that she at least can know them through your eyes, and memories.

I don't feel like myself today....

I am feeling somewhat negative today, when I normally feel pretty positive about life.  I am worried about my health, because I see the problems that my dad has, and am worried that is my future.  I just went through a rough 2 or 3 weeks, and I am starting to realize that I am not 24 anymore.  I was hoping that I would be done with doctors for a while after Monday, but I am still waiting for more test results to come back.  It sucks. 

I am also a little worried about this class.  Some of the stuff I am able to grasp, but I feel lost in other ways.  I am not a computer guy, I am a car guy.  I have a hard time expressing my thoughts in writing, and have a whole new respect for people that can.  I worry alot about the assignments, and struggle to do my best.  I have a drive to be the best at whatever I do, and it frustrates me that I am so slow in picking up how to do what I need to do to improve in the area of writing.  I am worried about the I Believe essay, and I am not sure how to get out what I want to say.  Coming back to school after so many years is one of the most difficult and most rewarding things I have ever done.  I think that this class is not only helping me express myself better, it is also teaching me that trying my hardest and doing my best may not always get me the results I want, but it will get me farther on than I was before.

But not everything today is negative.  I got to spend the last 2 days with my favorite girls.  My daughters, Starry and Tori, and my girlfriend, Katt.  They are my reason to go back to school, and they are worth it.