The Zoo

Last weekend, my wife and our daughter took the grandkids to the zoo. They were kind and asked if I’d like to join them. (I think they may have just wanted a driver). At first, I said no, but then after thinking about it, I decided to go. I hadn’t been to the zoo in years and then there was the part about being with the grandkids so, I went. I probably should have stayed with my original choice.

The zoo was pretty much as I remembered, fewer animals than they used to have but they still had the usual assortment – bears, lions, tigers, elephants, and my all-time favorite, the monkeys. Some would perhaps suggest that’s due to a primal kindred spirit. However, contrary to this popular opinion, I am not, and have never been, a monkey. I just like to watch them. When I was a kid, I could stand for hours, laughing at their antics.

Seeing the animals at the zoo and spending the day with the family was nice but, and here’s the reason I maybe should have stayed home, visiting all the animals requires some walking. A lot of walking. An inordinate amount of walking.

I can handle short walks. From the house to the pickup isn’t bad, a casual stroll through the yard is not too strenuous, even trudging to the mailbox is okay. But the ten-mile trek they sent us on at the zoo is for the birds – ‘cause they can fly! Me, I can’t fly. So, I had to walk. It was a winding trail, back and forth, up and down, and all around. Yet, in looking over the map they had given us at the gate, most of the walking would have been completely unnecessary. The exhibits were all arranged fairly close together, but instead of connecting them with a simple path from one to the next, we had to follow a roundabout trail all over the countryside. I suppose the idea is to create a sense of realism, to make it seem as if we were really in the jungles of Africa or on Safari in the Outback of Australia. That might have worked except for the paved path, steel cages, and the thick glass we had to look through to see the animals. Sort of gives it away.

I think it’d be better to forgo the fake setting in favor of a centrally structured design - get a big open space and build all the exhibits around it. Or, better yet, why can’t I just go sit down on a bench and have the people at the zoo bring the animals by for me to see? Let the animals do some walking for a change!

Okay, I’ll admit I may have overreacted a bit or maybe exaggerated the situation slightly, but there was an awful lot of walking involved. Too much walking for me – I’m a truck driver not a pedestrian. I don’t have that much energy. Next time, while everyone else wanders all over creation, I’ll just go watch the monkeys.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and more than a dozen books. Over My Dead Body, The Journey, and Miscarriage Of Justice, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit www.bruceaborders.com. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

What Goes Up

It’s an age-old adage, “What goes up, must come down.” Sometimes it’s hard to apply this to real-life situations, especially for someone who’s new to a certain job.

A few years ago, when I was an over-the-road driver, another driver and I were dispatched to a mountainous area with steep passes, up and then down. The other driver was fresh out of driving school – in his first year of driving truck. Now, runaway trucks are nothing to laugh at and can be quite dangerous, but the trick is for the driver to control the truck and not the other way around. The general rule of thumb for descending steep grades is to use the same gear and go the same speed as when climbing the grade, braking only occasionally. Overuse of the brakes will cause them to heat up and not work. Trust me, you don’t want to be going down a mountain pass in an 80,000 truck with no brakes.

We were halfway down a 5-mile grade when I noticed the other driver had grown strangely silent. I checked my mirror and he was still there, but seemed to be gaining on me rather quickly. I asked if he was all right, and in a stressed voice, he said he wasn’t; that he couldn’t slow down. Instantly, I knew what had happened. Although I’m sure they told him in truck-driving school not to ride the brakes, that’s what he had done. I asked if he’d ever driven in mountains before and he told me he hadn’t. He seemed near panic as he added that he’d never even seen mountains before. He’d gotten scared at the top when he saw what we had to go down. Wanting to make sure he went slow enough, he’d used the brakes way too much.

At that moment, I wasn’t too thrilled that he was behind me. I had nowhere to pull off and I certainly wasn’t going to speed up just to get out of his way. Lucky for me, the guy still had enough wherewithal to steer the truck around me. Lucky for him, no oncoming traffic was approaching. Also lucky for him, the rest of the hill was straight and he rode it out. There still was nowhere to stop and we climbed the next grade. At the top, there finally was a pull-off. His brakes should have cooled enough by then but I wanted to make sure before we started down again.

I made a thorough check of the brakes and they were fine – the driver, not so much. He had no desire to get back in the truck. I did manage to convince him to continue on, by telling him I’d let him know on the CB what gear to use, how fast to go, and when to brake. Since both trucks were just alike and we were hauling the same weight, all he had to do was follow what I did. We started down and I talked him through to the bottom. We continued this way, up and down, me giving instructions, for the next 100 miles or so.

Finally, as the steep grades flattened out, we came to a town. Parking at a tiny truck stop, I could smell the brakes on the other truck. Apparently, he’d still been a little overzealous with them, which he readily admitted, saying at the bottom of every grade he’d started losing his brakes again.

The guy was still shaken and sweating profusely. Walking straight to a payphone, he called the company, and quit. The dispatcher did eventually convince him to drive the truck back to the terminal.

I talked to the same dispatcher a few hours later and he wanted to know what had happened with the other driver. “He needs to relax and not use the brakes so much,” I said a little sardonically.

The dispatcher replied that some people have a hard time getting used to driving a semi-truck in mountains but they usually do get the hang of it. “They just need a little time.”

“Okay,” I said, but I wasn’t convinced. Easy for him to say, he hadn’t been the one in front of a runaway truck. “I’d rather they learn before following me down a mountain,” I said.

Oh, did I mention this was my first year of driving truck too? Okay, to be fair, I should point out that I grew up in mountains – and I was quite familiar with the practical application of the saying, “What goes up, must come down.”

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Power Nap

When I was about 10 or 11, I had an affinity for practical jokes. While we usually tend to focus on the “joke” aspect, we shouldn’t discount the practical side of practical jokes. They can actually prove quite useful, I have discovered.

I’m sure everyone has heard of power naps, a short period of sleep that quickly rejuvenates the body – truckers have practiced the concept for years to avoid falling asleep at the wheel. The results are remarkable. Unfortunately, they are only temporary. But, as I learned, the effects can be greatly extended. At the time of this story, I’d never heard of power naps, but apparently my dad had.

My dad, a preacher, and Pastor of a rather small church, also worked a full time job. Typically, his job turned into more than a mere forty hours a week. Combined with the Pastoral duties it meant his workweek was usually pretty long. As you can expect, he operated on little sleep. And from time to time, he needed to catch up in his rest.

One particular day I remember, he was scheduled to speak at a church over 100 miles away – a little more than a 2-hour drive. He got off work shortly before 5 p.m., rushed home and got ready to leave. Deciding to take me along, to help him stay awake, we left the house with only a few minutes to spare. We’d been on the road for just under an hour when my dad started having trouble keeping his eyes open. No, sadly, he didn’t let me drive, although I did offer! Instead, he pulled over to take a short nap. “Wake me up in 15 minutes,” he said.

I said, “Okay.” I already had a plan that I thought should keep him from falling asleep the rest of the trip. Waiting until I was sure he was sleeping, I ran the clock on the dash ahead about an hour. I looked across the car at his watch strapped on his arm, wondering how I’d ever re-set it without disturbing him. Then, I remembered he’d been having trouble with it not keeping time – losing time, in fact. Perfect for my needs so, I left it alone. I did set my own watch to match the clock in the car. This was long before the days of cell phones or the numerous other gadgets we now have to instantly keep us informed of the correct time – we didn’t even have a radio station for him to listen to.

Letting him sleep for the 15 minutes, I suddenly shouted, “Dad! Wake up! We’re late!”

Well, he woke up. Looking at the clock, we were back on the road without wasting a second. It took about five minutes for him to check his watch. I said nothing while he fretted over the time discrepancy between his watch and the clock, wondering which one was right. Then, I did try to help. Showing him my watch, I said, “Mine has the same time as the clock.”

Figuring his watch was dead, he devoted his full attention to the fact we would be late. I waited until we were almost to the church before setting his mind at ease.

Funny thing, later that night, he drove all the way back home without once thinking of stopping for a nap.

These days, I drive past the place we stopped, six times a day. By my last time, I’m usually tired. But just thinking of that incident from 35 years ago always wakes me right up. See? I told you I’d found a way to extend the effects of a power nap!

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit www.bruceaborders.com. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Mowing The Lawn

I used to like mowing the lawn. Good thing, too, ‘cause I started when I was four. Yep, four. And yes, I mowed by myself. Back then, we didn’t have those kill switches that stop the mower when the handle is released either. And I’m pretty sure the mowers were heavier then too – at least they seemed to weigh more.

My legs were too short for me to reach the top of the handle, I couldn’t even reach the middle cross bar, and so I used the sides of the handle. It was all I could do to make a lap around the yard. But, I did it. Then, it was my brother’s turn for a lap. That’s the way we mowed the lawn, taking turns so the job wasn’t overwhelming for a short little kid of four. Yeah, it was hard – but it was fun, and besides, I was helping – doing something worthwhile.

These days, anyone who has a four-year-old mowing the lawn would probably be in trouble for something I’m sure. In this modern over-protective culture, I guess we no longer want kids to learn how to work – or do much of anything. And of course, we certainly can’t overwork them, that would be just horrible – yeah, right.

As for me, I’m glad my dad taught me to mow and then let me do it - on my own – even at age four. Why? Well, a lot of reasons. As I’ve previously mentioned, I learned how to be productive, to work and get things done, how to stick with a job until it’s done, etc. It all came in handy about three years later when I started mowing lawns for other people – and getting paid!

Up until a few years ago, I’d mowed lawns every year since my dad first had me pushing the mower, in what was most likely a very inefficient pattern, around the house. And while I no longer thought it was exactly fun, I didn’t mind. Then one day, my son took over the mowing. Now, I haven’t mowed a lawn in quite a number of years, and I can’t really say I miss it. Not that it’s hard work necessarily, but it takes time, and my time is a limited commodity. There is always plenty of other things I could be doing.

But, as they say, all good things must end. Next week, my son turns eighteen and will soon be moving away. That means, “guess who” gets to mow the lawn? Hmm. And to think I used to like mowing!

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Torture Chamber

Don't worry, this is not political. Just a story based on firsthand experience.

In recent years, there's been a lot of talk concerning whether or not America engages in the torture of prisoners of war – or of anyone for that matter. The short answer is no. As a country, America does not officially practice the sadistic rituals of torture, per se. Usually.

The question then becomes, what qualifies as torture?

Torture chambers do exist in America, many of them. They can be found in virtually every city across the country. Prisoners of war are not the victims, but ordinary American citizens. I have seen several of these houses of pain, and though the look varies slightly from one to the next, each shares a number of features in common. These torture chambers do not engage in ripping out fingernails, they do not practice cutting off fingers, and they do not waterboard their subjects. But what they do is perhaps more sinister, evil and vile, more painful.

Generally, these places are small rooms, painted white. In the middle is a foreboding chair, the kind you'd see in an Alfred Hitchcock movie. The rooms are equipped with running water and electricity – old stand-bys and vital in any torturing endeavor – as well as several modern gadgets designed for the sole purpose of imposing pain. A vast array of knives and other primitive tools capable of inflicting sheer torment are arranged within easy reach of the administrator of the establishment.

The administrator, a smock-clad fiend, wielding various instruments of pain, is the dispenser of the torture. Usually a male, he is the sole arbiter of his victim's fate. Yet, he is not alone. One, and sometimes two or more of his cohorts, under the watchful eye of the master, work in concert to deliver as much physical trauma as possible.

In nearly all cases, these torture chambers make it a point to refrain from killing their subjects, choosing instead to cruelly prolong the agony, leaving their victims to suffer the effects for days, weeks, and occasionally, even extending to months.

As I said before, I've experienced these torture chambers firsthand. I know the horrors that take place in them. In fact, I was recently a reluctant victim. Thankfully, I survived - my trip to the dentist.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Digging To China

Everyone knows that China is roughly on the opposite side of the Earth as America, a little to the north, I know. Did you know you can't actually dig a hole to get there? I do. I tried. Admittedly, it was a feeble attempt – and short lived. After only an hour or so, I gave up – not something I'm comfortable with doing, then (at six), or now. Frustrating though it may be, I keep trying whatever it is I'm attempting to do. In my view, to give up is guaranteed failure. My attempt of digging to China was different though.

For some reason, my brother and I were mad at each other and had been told to leave the other one alone. To keep from arguing, we apparently thought it'd be a grand idea to dig holes in the ground. I don't know what his intent was, but mine was definitely to dig to China. Not that I wanted to visit the place – I just wanted to get away from my brother.

At some point, as brothers are prone to do, we got over our disagreement - or forgot what we were arguing about – and noticed we'd both dug a substantially sized hole. We had two holes a few feet deep, and about ten feet apart. My brother suggested we stop digging down and start tunneling to connect the holes. That sounded good to me but it would mean I'd have to abandon my plan of digging to China – and I'd already made a lot of progress! Hey, a three-foot deep hole is quite an accomplishment at that age!

Then my brother pointed out that it was several thousand miles to China, through a very hot center of the Earth, I'd never be able to accomplish it. Reluctantly, I gave up on the notion.

It took the rest of the day, but we did manage to connect the holes with a tunnel big enough to crawl through. It lasted only a few days, before, being boys, we destroyed it.

A few months ago, I heard a report that some company had come up with a plan of drilling a hole through to the Earth's core in order to utilize the inner magnetic field, thereby connecting all the continents. Theoretically, it would be a modern-day transatlantic cable with the entire world hardwired together. A constant connection, uninterrupted by solar flares or any of the other numerous and common causes of outages. The idea was to allow American companies a more reliable means of communication with their overseas factories – mainly in China.

Sadly, the report said, officials with the company had ultimately decided to scrap the idea, stating the plan was entirely unfeasible. Imagine that! They should have asked me before wasting all their time and money. I could have told 'em, you can't dig your way to China.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit www.bruceaborders.com. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Tall Tales

I guess I’ve always been a cynic. Skeptical. A realist. I just never bought into tall tales. Horses don’t talk, pigs don’t fly, and vampires don’t exist.

In first grade, for a class project, we all got to help bake a gingerbread man. All the students were assigned specific duties. My job was to stir the batter.

Of course, the teacher had set the stage the day before by showing us the film of the gingerbread man, so we all knew the story of how it came to life and ran away. But me, I didn’t buy it.

After placing our gingerbread man in the oven, we returned to class. An hour or so later, we went back to the kitchen to eat our freshly baked gingerbread man – or so we were told. When we got there, it was missing. The teacher had us all search the kitchen with no sign of it. Then, she suggested that it must have come to life and run away – just like in the film.

Yeah, right, I thought. How gullible does she think we are? I didn’t say anything – yet. But after traipsing from the kitchen, through the cafeteria and gym, searching the Administrative offices and teacher’s lounge, I started voicing my opinion. She didn’t pay any attention at first, so I may, or may not, have gotten a little louder. My intolerance for the wild goose chase was more than skepticism of the tall tale - I like gingerbread, I’d helped make this gingerbread man, and I wanted to eat it.

As the class moved outside, to search the playground, the teacher pulled me aside. She said she knew gingerbread men do not really come to life, but that I needed to play along for the sake of the other children. I think I must have rolled my eyes or something at this point, because she added that it was just a fun game and entertaining film – like Pinocchio.

The mention of Pinocchio was rather ironic, I thought, since the point of that story was to teach kids the perils of lying. Apparently at the time, I was still young enough to not be too mouthy, because I didn’t say what I was thinking.

After continuing our pointless search through the basement, the janitor’s area, and several classrooms, we finally wound up in the library. I knew we’d find our gingerbread man there because I could smell it. Besides, there were no more places to search. Naturally, we had to wait a little longer, looking through all the shelves of books, the card catalog, tables and the librarian’s desk, before the teacher “found” our little man on top of a bookshelf. Then, with all the students following, she carried it back to the classroom, where finally, we got to eat our gingerbread man.

A few days later, I forgot to turn in my spelling assignment before going home. The next morning the teacher asked me about it. With a straight face, I told her, “I did turn it in.”

Shaking her head, the teacher said, “It’s not here.”

Looking her in the eye, I continued the game. “I think I know what happened. My paper came alive last night and ran away. Maybe we should look for it. We could have the whole class help search.”

You know, turns out I’m not the only one who doesn’t believe in tall tales.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Missing History

Never trust the history books. Sometimes they get it wrong. Or, they simply leave out important events altogether.

Take for instance, the year, 1967. Many significant things happened that year, not the least of which was me being born. Yes, contrary to the popular speculation of some (my wife), I was indeed born and not hatched.

Sorry, I get sidetracked easily. Back to my point.

Among the notable events of 1967 are: the Apollo Missions, the first heart transplant, the first Superbowl, and as I already mentioned, my birth. I may be biased but I view the latter as the single most important event of the year. (It’s okay, I’ll understand if you don’t see it quite that way).

On the darker side, other events of the year include: the Six Day War, Colorado becoming the first state to legalize abortion, and the forming of the Department of Transportation. 1967 was also a year marked by nationwide race riots.

All this I knew. In preparation for this post, and to see what other stellar events occurred that year, I turned to the history books, which these days are on the Internet. Visiting a well-known online encyclopedia website, I learned that 1967 was the year of the first live, nationwide satellite TV production, the first ATM (then called an automatic cash machine), Sesame Street made its debut, the pocket calculator was invented, and the first Boeing 737 took flight.

I found these somewhat trivial facts to be interesting and impressive. Yet, strangely missing was anything that occurred on April 3rd of that year. I refined my search. The results?

“No significant events for this date.”

Really?

I checked several other websites. All of them agreed – nothing worth mentioning occurred on April 3, 1967. Hmm. Are they all in cahoots with my wife, or what? I was sure that’s the date I was born. Just to make certain, I dug out my birth certificate, and there it was in black and white. I was born on April 3, 1967. For some odd reason, that earth-shattering event has been overlooked; omitted from the historical record! I’m shocked! Appalled! How could this have happened?

Shrug. Sigh. It just goes to show, you can’t trust the history books.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Backing Up

Unlike some truck drivers, I actually like backing up. The smaller the space and the more difficult the situation, the better. I just like the challenge. However, that wasn’t always the case. When I first started driving a truck, the first place I was sent served to create a lot of frustration and left me wondering why I ever decided to become a truck driver.

I’d arrived at my delivery destination just after sunup on a bright summer day. The dock I was supposed to back into was an inside recessed dock with no lights. Lights may seem unnecessary since it was daylight but, for those of you who may not know, the bright sun outside makes for a very dark hole inside. The end of the trailer disappears once it goes through the door. In effect, I was backing into a building blindly. To make matters worse, there was no room to get the truck and trailer lined up straight with the dock before backing up. And with the many smaller buildings, machinery, and piles of supplies all strategically placed in the way, I had to negotiate a virtual maze – with little room to spare. Somehow, they expected me to get the trailer backed into the dock and have it end up straight. But, as the guard pointed out, I was a “professional” driver.

I’m sure the dockworkers, and everyone else who gathered to watch, were not at all impressed by my lack of proficiency at my job, but they didn’t say anything. They all waited patiently until I’d finally gotten the trailer into position so they could unload it. Both their silence and patience were remarkable considering it took over an hour before I was done.

Of course, with practice, backing up became much easier and before long I looked forward to what the next challenge would be. After 10 hours or so of highway driving, backing into tight places was a welcomed change of pace.

With the driving job I have now, I don’t do much backing, usually only once a day. The nice thing is I don’t have to put the trailer into a particular spot, I can choose from any number of open slots. Some drivers might instinctively pick the easiest ones but I like to look for the most difficult. It provides something to test me and keeps me in practice.

Over the years, I have kept a mental list of some of my favorite backs. Generally, to make the list there needs to be not enough room and multiple turns involved. A real life labyrinth – in reverse. Yes, I do like backing up.

More than a year after that first backing fiasco, I was again sent to the same warehouse where I’d made my first delivery. For a long time, I’d wanted to return and was glad to finally have the chance to see if it was really all that difficult or not. To see if the months of practice of backing through small alleys and into docks made for much smaller trucks had paid off.

Conditions were nearly the same when I arrived – a bright, sunny, summer morning, the same obstacle course to maneuver through and a dark building to back into. The same guard was on duty and I recognized many of the same dockworkers. I hoped none of them remembered me. That dream was short lived as one of them instantly smiled and asked if I’d had any practice since I’d been there. I laughed and said, “I guess we’ll see.”

While they all waited, I got the truck into position and backed into the building, relying on feel when the back of the trailer disappeared. This time, in less than three minutes, I was ready to be unloaded. Apparently, at some point during the year, my truck had drastically shrunk. No one applauded or anything, but judging from their faces, I’d say they all were happy I’d learned to like backing up.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Fire Drill

I’ve always had a proclivity for getting into trouble – even when I technically did nothing wrong. As a result, I made more than my fair share of trips to the Principal’s Office in my school days. The first time was in Kindergarten. Yep, I started early.

It was the first fire drill of the year. The fire alarm sounded and the teacher, Mrs. Dietrich, lined us up at the door. I was next to last with my friend Doug behind me. After we all were ready, the teacher opened the door and told us to follow the person in front of us. Then we filed out the door into the hall. Things went well until we reached the main hallway. With two classes each of Kindergarten through third grade, a lot of kids filled up the place, all of them bigger than me - and taller. Pushing and shoving the students mingled together and not being able to see over anyone, I got lost among the crowd. My friend and I were left standing still in a hall full of people, all seemingly going different directions.

Knowing there was no way to find my class, I said to Doug that if the building was on fire the most important thing was to get out, not find our classmates. He agreed. So, we fell in line with the nearest class and followed them out the door. Several minutes later (longer than usual I discovered), the bell rang to let us know we could return to our classrooms. Feeling proud of ourselves for solving our problem and finding our way safely out of the building, my friend and I returned to our class. The instant we walked in, we knew we were in trouble. The look on the Mrs. Dietrich’s face told us she was upset before she even spoke. When she did speak, it was to tell us to report to the Principal’s Office immediately. We did, but all the way, I was wondering what exactly the problem was. We had gotten out of the building. And, we had returned safe and sound to class.

Arriving at the Principal’s Office, he enlightened me. We suffered through a short lecture about how the school was responsible for our well-being and how when we weren’t present for roll call with our class it was cause for alarm – and not just a fire alarm. Mrs. Dietrich had reported us as missing and that was the reason for the extended stay outside. He said if this had been an actual fire, we could have endangered the lives of the firemen who would have had to come look for us. I think the idea was to either make us feel bad or scared - perhaps both.

Always willing to argue the finer points of logic, even at age five, I finally spoke up. I explained that we’d become lost and couldn’t see over the bigger kids. And that since we couldn’t find our classmates we’d followed the other class outside. I also pointed out that this wasn’t an actual fire so, even if we hadn’t gotten out of the school we would have been safe. The Principal wasn’t impressed. I then played my trump card. If my teacher had reported us as missing because we weren’t present for roll call, why hadn’t they immediately figured out where we were when the other teacher reported two extra kids with her class? I still remember the look on the Principal’s face as he told us to return to class.

I heard later that the other teacher had gotten in a little hot water for not discovering us with her group. It hadn’t been my intention to get her in trouble – just to get me out of trouble. Still, I was a bit amused by it all. Over the years, I was sent to the Principal’s Office many more times, some deserved some undeserved. Thanks to the practice I’d had in Kindergarten, I argued every single time – usually successfully. The last time I made my grand entrance was my final year of High School. I had taken the liberty of retrieving some personal property from the trash. Personal property that the teacher had thrown away. It wasn’t even mine but I didn’t think the teacher should have taken the perfume from the girl so I marched right into the teacher’s lounge and took it back.

How was I able to get inside the teacher’s lounge? It was easy; I waited until everyone else was outside - for a fire drill.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Nothing New

When I was in the third grade, my teacher told us that nothing new could be invented because all the frontiers of science had already been explored and exhausted. She said all we could do was to make variations of things, which already existed, like a different flavor of pop or potato chips, or a new style of car. As far as actual new products however, my generation would have none.

Clearly, she was delusional. Aside from the obvious electronic products such as computers, cell phones, I-pad or Kindle, GPS, pagers, and a slew of other gizmos, there is a long list of items that we didn’t have. There was no such thing as software, MP3’s, CD’s, or DVD’s. We didn’t even have VCR tapes or cassettes, although 8-tracks were popular at the time.

I’ve come up with several more examples as well. I realize some of them are simply variations, but some can only be categorized as new inventions. I remember when Hidden Valley Ranch dressing came out, as well as Diet Coke, Doritos, Pop Tarts, Hot Pockets, Gatorade and PowerAde (We did have Tang), Lunchables, energy drinks and more. And I distinctly recall the day my dad brought home a new candy that almost exploded in the mouth – Pop Rocks.

Back then no one had ever heard of Instant Messaging, texting, e-mail, or video conferencing. If you wanted to communicate, there was the Post Office and a very expensive telephone service. I remember when call forwarding, call waiting and caller ID were fascinatingly new concepts.

There was no direct deposit, no ATM’s, and no debit cards. Stores had no scanners either - they would have been rather pointless. Since barcodes didn’t exist, there was nothing to scan.

We had no microwave popcorn, no microwave oatmeal, soups, or dinners. But then, we really would’ve had no use for any of these – we had no microwave. And there’s more. We had no digital clocks or watches, no hand-held calculators, video games, remote control toys, and no digital cameras – we didn’t even have Polaroid cameras. We did have typewriters, but no word processors. (That may have been a good thing – their usefulness was short-lived with the proliferation of personal computers).

The list goes on. Cars didn’t have front-wheel drive, anti-lock brakes, automatic headlights, automatic locks, airbags, or my favorite – no seatbelts!

DNA was only theoretical science, lasers only existed in physicist’s labs (or in the movies), and a computer with less processing power than I have on my I-phone filled a large room.

I know I’ve omitted a lot of stuff but I think I’ve made my point, which is that a lot of things have come along in my life. New inventions. Life certainly has changed. Yet, some things never change. Not long ago, I heard a guy on the radio, satellite radio; say that nothing new could be invented. That all we can do now is make variations of what is already in existence. Really? Must’ve had the same third grade teacher I had.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Buried Treasure

I think every kid dreams of finding buried treasure. The prospect bears a certain charm of mystery and adventure, not to mention becoming rich. For most kids the chances of actually finding buried treasure are somewhere between zero and none. Unless... Unless you bury the treasure yourself and return later to “find” it.

I must have been eight or nine years old when I decided to do just that. I got a shoebox out of my Mom’s closet and set out to find a few treasures to bury in the box. I threw in some coins, a few dollar bills, and a couple of Army men, along with a wooden whistle I’d carved. There were more supposed valuables, most likely junk, but that’s the items I remember.

I took the time to place everything in plastic bags – Ziploc bags. Everything, that is, except the shoebox. For some reason, it didn’t occur to me that the box might deteriorate. I was only concerned with what was in the box – my treasure. I didn’t want the dirt and water to ruin anything.

Carrying my Dad’s shovel with the box, I walked about a quarter mile up the creek and found a good spot. The place I chose was an equal distance between two large thorn trees and lined up with a huge oak tree across the field. I dug a two-foot deep hole in the soft dirt, set the box inside and covered it over. I figured I’d come back and dig it up in twenty years or so.

I didn’t make it twenty years, more like five. We’d moved from that house but one day I made a trip back to check on my treasure. I walked up the creek to the spot where I’d buried the shoebox – or where I thought it should be. The two thorn trees were hard to find with all the new growth, including many new trees. Most of the trees looked about the same size. To make matters worse, the oak tree across the field was gone. I didn’t give up easily though. I dug several holes in a ten-foot area where I figured my treasure would be, but didn’t find anything. Widening my search, I dug some more. Still nothing. No shoebox. No plastic bags. No treasure. Apparently, the chances of finding buried treasure are not increased by burying it yourself, after all.

I never did find it. Perhaps some other adventurous kid discovered it. Or maybe I just didn’t dig in the right spot. A more likely scenario is that the flooding creek washed it away. Yet, the possibility does exist that my treasure is still there – minus the cardboard box, of course - waiting to be found. Granted, it’s not worth much, but maybe it’ll make some kid’s day when they unearth what’s left of the plastic bagged fortune, because every kid dreams of finding buried treasure. I’d even be willing to point them in the right direction – if only I knew myself.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

The Wind Wind

The last five days I’ve spent replacing a sizable portion of the roof on my house and repairing the collapsed fence. All this, thanks to the wind. Chicago may be known as the windy city – but I’ve been there numerous times and it’s not, windy that is, it is most definitely a city. It’s just not that windy. Not compared to the Columbia River Gorge in Oregon. Chicago may have a few tornados but it’s not the norm. In the Gorge, we have tornado-speed straight winds quite often.

I realize there are a lot of places that lay claim to high winds. I’ve seen a good many of them in my travels. Posted signs warn of the danger yet, when I look for evidence, I see none. The trees have branches on all sides – in the Columbia River Gorge, it is not unusual to see trees with branches all pointing in the same direction, away from the wind. And several times, I’ve heard truck drivers talking, convinced the Columbia River is flowing backwards – from west to east – because the waves, caused by the wind, make it appear that way. I’ve seen the wind in the Gorge blow loaded boxcars off the track and loaded semis off the road. Buildings don’t always fare so well either.

A hard blowing wind is nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, what is strange is for the wind to stop. Frequently, wind speeds register 50 mph and more. Occasionally, they top 100 mph. Wind surfers from around the world come to take advantage of the winds in the Gorge. And lately, the hillsides are becoming cluttered with thousands of windmills, converting the wind into electricity. Except, they can’t always run those windmills because it is too windy. Yeah, the wind blows here.

So, it wasn’t too surprising last week when I came home to find my fence down and much of my roof gone. Most of my neighbors’ houses were the same. We’ve all been busy these last few days putting things back in order. Oddly, no one seemed too upset by the incident. It wasn’t the first time and obviously, it won’t be the last. Yet, despite that reality, I like living here and prefer it over any other area. Every region has its own potentially dangerous phenomenon; snow and ice, fire, earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis, etc. I think I’ll take the wind.

I finished up the fence today and the roof is waterproof once more, I hope. The yard is all cleaned up and everything is back to normal. Normal being waiting for the wind to knock something down again.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Bicycle Wreck

Did you ever have your dad knock you off your bicycle? On purpose? I did. Really! Without warning – just boom - he knocked me right to the ground.

I suppose I should explain.

At the ripe old age of six, I made an executive decision that I needed a new bike. I had a bike already, and it was pretty new, but it wasn’t a ten-speed. I needed a ten-speed.

I saved my money for a whole year and shortly after my seventh birthday, purchased a brand new, orange ten-speed for $67.00 – a lot of money for a kid in the seventies.

I’d had the bike less than a week when my brother and I, along with my dad, went for a bike ride. They were a little ways ahead because I was still struggling with operating the gears and my short legs didn’t seem to fit the 26-inch frame. I know, a smaller frame would’ve been better but, that bike was the one I wanted – the others were not orange. For some reason the color seemed to matter a lot.

My dad and brother had stopped to wait while I figured out how to work the gears and then hurried to catch up. Not wanting to stop, once I’d gotten started, I thought I would just go around them and they could follow. But, right at the moment I reached my dad, his hand shot out, literally knocking me off the bike! I went crashing to the ground, as did my brand new bicycle.

I do remember a surprised and worried look on his face. And before his hand sent my flying, I do remember him saying something. Something. I didn’t know what. Apparently, the what (I later learned) was for me to stop. But, seeing I wasn’t paying attention to him, or the car on the road – the one I was about to ride in front of – my dad pushed me in the opposite direction. I ended up in the dirt and my bike continued on a little further, coming to rest on a rock. I was not hurt, just a little dirty – far better than if I’d been run over by the car!

The only damage to the bike was a six-inch scratch on the frame. Right on the top. Right where I could always see it. And that was good. It served as a constant reminder to look before riding into a road. After all, my dad wasn’t always going to be around to save me by knocking me off my bike!

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit www.bruceaborders.com. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

A Vicarious Vindication

Revenge is sweet! Now before anyone gets the wrong idea, I’m not talking about forcing someone out a second-story window for breaking your stuff or anything. Although, that can be quite therapeutic. (In my defense, I was ten years old and I didn’t actually push him – he jumped. There may have been some discussion about his only other option being to be propelled headfirst and other contributing factors – still, it was his choice.)

Back to my story. The kind of revenge I’m referring to is more a feeling of validation. An Aha! I win moment.

Age 15. High school. A chess tournament. The tournament included several Christian schools in the area and was held in a neighboring town. I made it to the final round – and lost. The next year, I entered again. This time I beat the guy I’d lost to the year before but then; I lost to another kid – again, in the final round. Two years, two tournaments, two different opponents, but the same result. Then, I learned that the administrator of the school, which hosted the tournament, was some kind of chess genius. Mr. Winters, though at the time I didn’t know his name. Both kids I’d lost to were his students.

I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge so the next year, my last year of high school, I entered the tournament again. This time, I was on a roll. I beat both of the guys who had won the previous years! But, as they say, history repeats itself; I lost in the final round. Once again, the winner was a student of Mr. Winters.

Three years I’d entered the tournament and three years I’d come in second. Three red ribbons. Ribbons that were promptly stuffed into a drawer, never to be displayed. To some, second place might be a fine achievement, to me; it meant I was the first loser. (Yes, I have a slight competitive nature). With no more chances to redeem myself, I tried to look on the bright side – I had at some point over the three years beaten all three winners. In fact, I’d beaten each of them twice. That fact was of little comfort – all three of them had a blue ribbon while mine were red. But, that’s not the end of the story.

Fast forward nearly thirty years. My wife and I enrolled our son in a private Christian school for his last two years of high school. When we met the principal, I thought he looked familiar but couldn’t quite place him. After some discussion, he revealed he’d just recently moved to our town, having spent the last several years as the administrator of a school in another town – the town where I’d gone for the chess tournaments. Then, I knew him. Sitting across the desk was the guy responsible for my red ribbons! (Yeah, I know others were responsible too - namely, me and the three kids I’d lost to). My first instinct was to challenge him to a chess match right then and there – just get it over with. But, I managed to control the urge, though I did tell him who I was. And yes, he remembered me. I asked if he still planned to hold chess tournaments. He said he did. I said nothing but inside I was elated!

I’d taught my son to play chess years earlier – and he was pretty good. He knew the story of my three red ribbons and finding out who his new principal was sparked his own competitive spirit. He entered the tournament that year and did well. Then, deja vu – he came in second.

The following year, his senior year of high school, he once more entered the chess tournament. And again, he made it to the final round. This was it. One last chance. Obviously, he won the game or I wouldn’t be writing about it. I think I was more excited about it than he was. I know what you’re thinking – it wasn’t me that won. Ah, but it was. Vicariously though it may have been.

Mr. Winters told the story at my son’s graduation and after almost thirty years, I felt vindicated. Revenge is sweet! Thanks, Colter.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

The Weekend

I drive a truck for a living. And I drive at night. Why? Aside from being a night owl, there is considerably less traffic at night. Less traffic makes my job easier and gets it over with faster since; I’m not waiting on anybody. Usually.

Friday afternoon is the exception. Bumper to bumper traffic. Apparently, everybody in the world needs to be some place else. Me included. The difference is I’m going to work while everybody else is done for the week and headed home. And everybody is in a hurry. The weekend only lasts so long, I suppose.

On my way to work, I see a few people I know – at the store or the gas station. Knowing I still have another day before my weekend, they can’t resist rubbing it in. I guess they like to make sure I know they’re free – and I’m not. That’s okay. Sure, it’s disheartening at times, say on a mid-summer perfect weather kind of day, but it’s not like I’m actually going to miss the weekend. I’ll get to it – just a little later than everyone else. Guess you could say I run behind the rest of the world.

On Fridays, my delayed schedule is not so great. But come Monday morning, I’ll start feeling better about the whole deal. When most people are rolling out of bed with Blue Monday Syndrome, I’ll have until late afternoon to finish my weekend. And, as I run around doing all the last minute things before starting my workweek, there’s not a whole lot of traffic to bother me – everybody else is at work!

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Technically Speaking

While doing a crossword puzzle one day, the clue given was “A space between the teeth.” Having worked as a dental technician for more than a dozen years, of course I immediately thought of diastema. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the word it wanted was only three letters. Apparently, diastema wasn’t going to fit.

(For all of you reading this who think I’m a complete idiot, I do know the word is gap. So, I’m not a complete idiot. And for anyone wondering what a dental technician is, it is one employed in the fabrication of dental prostheticis – they make dentures, crowns and bridges, and other dental/oral appliances.)

The puzzle got me to thinking. Thinking back to when I first started working in a dental laboratory. I was fifteen years old and could see no reason for using the technical terms. Just fancy words. The common words were sufficient and much easier to understand. It seemed much simpler to say “between the teeth” than “interproximal area.” And, upper and lower appeared to make more sense than maxillary and mandibular.

But somewhere along the way, I gave in, adapting to the technical terms. Or, maybe I just learned the proper terms are more descriptive and concise, which in the long run make them easier to understand. For example, when referring to the sides of a denture, lingual and labial are clearer, at least to a technician, than the everyday terms of inside and outside (does the “inside” indicate the palatal area or the tissue side).

But, now that I’m a truck driver, an extensive dental science vocabulary serves no purpose.

So, now I wonder why did I need to learn all the technical jargon? It appears to have been a massive waste of time and effort. Sure, I know a lot of strange words, but I can’t use them unless I want to sound like an idiot. (See paragraph two above). People return blank stares if I say things like distal, mesial, buccal, or frenum, and apparently, eyetooth is far more popular than cuspid. In retrospect, I may have been right at age 15. Just fancy words.

The problem is however, it is difficult or next to impossible to unlearn something. Even after being out of the field for over 16 years, I can’t switch back. Something in my head forces me to use the correct technical terminology. On the bright side however, if I ever need to know the clinical term for dry mouth, I’m all set. Doubtful, I know.

I did find a use for some of the terminology recently. No, it wasn’t a crossword puzzle for dental technicians, and it wasn’t a game show where I could win millions of dollars – it was a blog. You’re reading it. Thanks.

Oh, and for whatever it’s worth, the proper term for dry mouth is - xerostomia.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Is It July Yet?

22 degrees and raining. Raining hard. Conditions not at all conducive to driving. The winter weather storm warning said driving tonight would be extremely hazardous or impossible.

And where am I? Behind the wheel, of course. Since the notice didn’t mention an offer to pay my bills, I went to work. I am now cruising down the freeway at an astonishing 20 mph! At that rate, my normal run of 700 miles will take 35 hours. I think the Department of Transportation, which limits driver’s operation of a commercial vehicle to 12 hours, might frown on that.

So, I made an executive decision. Instead of my usual two trips, tonight, I’ll be making just one. The shortest of the two. That will cut my miles to around 300. I realize that’s still 15 hours at my present speed but, according to the CB chatter, parts of the road ahead are better. I should be able to get back within the 12-hour timeframe. If not, I’ll stop and wait. After 10 hours off, I can drive again. Of course, in that time the roads may become impassable. With as much snow and ice as we already have, any additional accumulation could mean an even longer wait. And the longer I wait, the worse it could become. A guy can’t win.

So, maybe I should just wait for warmer weather. How long could it take? July isn’t that far away is it?

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Do I Know You?

The older I get, the more people I see who look, sound, or act like someone I know. Or, to be more accurate, someone I used to know. Of course, this leads to me studying them intently – as opposed to staring, which I’ve heard is impolite – trying to figure out exactly what it is that reminds me of the other person, or sometimes, who the other person even is.

I’m not sure if this phenomenon is because I know, or have known, a lot of people or a result of my own overactive imagination. Both perhaps.

You can probably see the problems this creates, when complete strangers notice my sudden interest in them. They look back at me like I’m a stalker, or Jack The Ripper. Talk about impolite! Yet, even amid their glaring stares, I can’t seem to let it go. Not until I know who, what, when, how, and why. A little OCD? Maybe.

I’m not completely irrational - yet. So far, I’ve managed to keep my wife and other family members straight. Although, my children do tend to remind me of a younger version of their parents at times. That can be good or bad.

So, if you see me lost in thought, looking right at you as if I don’t know who you are, pay me no mind. I’m not stalking you, and unless I’ve just caught you breaking into my house or something, I have no designs on bringing about your early demise. It may be that you look strangely familiar. And I might simply be trying to decide whether you remind me of someone or if I actually know you.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Sink Or Swim

Seven years old and I couldn’t swim. Pitiful, I know. My dad must have felt the same way because one hot summer day, a Saturday as I recall, he took me and my brother down to the river. It was time I learned to swim, he said.

I don’t know if he could tell it or not but, I was sort of scared. I wasn’t afraid of water in general, just that particular water. I’d heard all kinds of stories about the river with its raging and churning white water rapids and the deep, powerful undercurrents. The fact that these stories pre-dated the building of the dam, not more than a mile from our swimming hole, was lost on me. Sure, the river looked calm enough but all those horrible stories of people jumping or falling in and then being swept away in the current, never to be seen again were still in my head.

Then, my desire to swim overcame my fear and I waded out into the water. I was ready. My dad held a finger through my belt loop, so I could practice without sinking – or so he claimed. After a few minutes of kicking and splashing, I actually started moving forward. And then – my belt loop broke! At that point, it was literally, sink or swim. Usually, faced with such a situation, most people swim. Not me, I sank.

Of course, my dad fished me out of the water, even before I had time to cough or splutter. But, that was the end of my swimming lesson that day. And I refused to go back to that river.

Later, I did learn to swim but not before a few more episodes of sinking. My brother rescued me – probably against his better judgment considering how annoying I could be.

I’m not quite sure why swimming was such an important thing to learn though; it’s been several years now since I’ve gone. Still, knowing how to swim and not going is much better than going and not knowing how. Not being able to swim is kind of a sinking feeling!

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit www.bruceaborders.com. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Waiting

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