Bruce A. Borders: July 2012

Monday, July 30, 2012

Moving Out

I remember the day I moved out of my parent’s house. Eighteen years old and ready to face the world. I loaded everything I owned in a green 1973 Impala and drove 2000 miles away. It felt good to be on my own and, for better or worse, I was the master of my own destiny.

I won’t try to convince anyone that I was actually grown up, or mature - too many people are still around who knew me then. I did have a job and paid all my bills, but I was still a kid. The good news is, I learned an awful lot of stuff that can only be acquired through experience. And the bad news is, I learned a lot of stuff that can only be acquired through experience.

In less than a month, my son will be leaving for school. Moving out, and living on his own. Aside from making me feel old, I have rather mixed emotions about the whole thing. On one hand, I’m glad for him. He has a great opportunity, and is a responsible person, I’m sure he can manage. On the other hand, he will be moving a long ways away. That wouldn’t be so bad except that I know he’ll have to learn some of the same stuff I learned - and through experience. That’s what has me feeling somewhat apprehensive.

I should be used to this by now. My two older children moved out a few years ago, so I should be all practiced up and able to handle this one with no problem. Yeah, right. My daughters didn’t move that far away, and I’m still around if they need me. (Which they rarely do, but its okay to pretend, right?) The difference this time is I’m afraid my son may be a little too much like his father.

That could be a good sign though. After all, I made it - and for the most part unscathed. Yet, I’m sure that won’t help when a few weeks from now my son loads up all his belongings and set off down the road. But, on the bright side - at least I’ll know how my parents felt the day I left home.

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 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

Monday, July 23, 2012

My First Job

Remember the small, neighborhood grocery store? The kind where, when you walked in, it was like visiting a friend’s house? Where everyone knew your name and treated you like family? These days, the giant supermarkets have replaced many of the neighborhood grocery stores. They may have more of a selection but something seems to be missing.

As a kid, I lived next door to one of those friendly hometown grocery stores. I’m sure there are probably 5000 laws, or so, against this now, (in 1970, we didn’t have all the dumb laws to make everything illegal) but at age three that store provided me with my first job. Yes, I started working a little young, although it wasn’t exactly a strenuous job, not a child labor camp kind of deal. Twice a week, on freight day, I went to work.

After the truck driver, Tiny, - yes, I still remember his name - delivered the freight, and all the product had been put away, it was my job to take all of the boxes to the shed out back. A pretty easy job for the most part, except that some of the boxes were bigger than I was. Okay, most of the boxes were bigger than I was. But, I managed. I flipped them upside down, over my head and carried them, one at a time. I was later told it was a little comical to see – a cardboard box with two feet sticking out of the bottom, walking itself out of the store and around the building to the shed. The job took no more than a half an hour and for this I was paid 25 cents - 50 cents per week!

When the owners sold the store I thought that’d be the end of my job but then, I was hired by the new owner. (I suspect the previous owners might have had something to do with that). But, as is usually the case with new bosses, the job changed a little. More duties were added. Instead of just piling the boxes in the shed, I had to break them down and stack them in the corner by the door. And, once all the boxes were out of the store, I had to sweep the floor. However, with the added work came a raise! Double my previous wage; 50 cents per day and, my first benefit package – a candy bar and soda pop when the job was finished!

The store is gone now, and the house is gone; replaced by a huge shopping center, with a giant supermarket. They call it progress. Probably no one remembers the little boy who used to carry boxes with only his feet showing. The good news is that in the last forty plus years, I’ve progressed too. And while driving truck isn’t that much more difficult than carrying boxes, I do manage to earn a bit more than a dollar a week!

Monday, July 16, 2012

Losing Things On The Road

In my daily travels along the Interstate, I see a lot of junk strewn alongside the road. I’m not talking garbage or trash people have thrown out, but things that until they fell out of a vehicle moving at 70 mph, were perfectly fine. Now supposedly, its bad luck to lose something out of a vehicle while driving. Well, duh! You don’t have your stuff anymore – that’s not exactly a stroke of good fortune!

It’s amazing though, just how much people lose. I’ve seen everything from clothes and purses to dressers and beds; from suitcases and lamps to toolboxes and ladders. Once, I even saw a busted up piano. Something tells me it probably no longer played.

I often wonder what these people were thinking when they set off down the road without tying or strapping down their possessions securely. Maybe they just didn’t care. Or, in the case of heavy objects like a refrigerator or piano, they didn’t want to have to unload it. Me, I like my stuff and I’d like to keep it, so I tie it down. Besides, replacing things is rather expensive.

Perhaps the most interesting thing I’ve seen on the side of the road was a mirror. A big mirror. The kind that hangs at the end of some grand hallway in a fancy estate. What was especially fascinating about the mirror is that it wasn’t broken. The edges of the wooden frame were a little banged up but other than that, there it was, defying all logic, leaning up against the guardrail, the glass gleaming brightly in the afternoon sun. A shinning example that even the most predictable outcomes can sometimes be very unpredictable. How does a mirror fall from a moving vehicle, land on the hard pavement, roll to a stop up against a solid surface, and not shatter into a million pieces?

Just luck, I suppose.

Monday, July 9, 2012

Kids Do Dumb Stuff

Kids do dumb stuff sometimes. Not an earth-shattering statement, I realize. Doing dumb things is part of growing up. And the great part is that everyone alive is either a kid or once was a kid – so everybody can relate – whether they want to admit it or not. Some don’t, but I will.

I can’t remember if I was six or seven at the time, but the rest I recall quite well. A friend and I were walking from my house to his – just across the street. As we crossed the road, we noticed a car approaching in the distance. For some reason, we both suddenly stopped walking and faced the oncoming car with arms stretched out like we were daring the driver to hit us.

At the same instant, we both realized that the white car coming toward us was a state patrol vehicle. “Cop!” we yelled, and made a mad dash for the bushes surrounding his house. Then, staying out of sight, we retreated behind the shed. Our efforts to escape were futile, however. A few seconds later, the officer pulled into the driveway and went to ring the bell. My friend’s Mom listened as the cop explained why he was there and then she came looking for us.

For the next several minutes, we were treated to a lecture about how dangerous our behavior was. I remember thinking, Does he really think we’re dumb enough to stand there and wait until the car runs us over? Apparently, he did, because when I asked him, he repeated how dangerous it was and said that we could’ve been killed. Eventually, the cop left. My friend’s Mom didn’t really say a whole lot – just shook her head. I guess she figured we’d learned our lesson.

But, remember what I said about kids doing dumb stuff?

It continued to bother me that the cop actually thought I’d simply stand there in the street with a car coming and not move – long before it had a chance to hit me. I’m not sure who I was trying to prove it to, certainly not the cop, who I never saw again, but several months later, I decided to try it again. Not wanting to get my friend in trouble, this time, I was alone. I chose a darker colored car, but other than that, everything was much the same. Same street, same place. And at about the same distance, I realized the approaching car was a county cop! Twice in a row! What were the odds?

No, I didn’t get in trouble again. Why? Let’s just say that one kid can effectively disappear a whole lot easier than two.

Monday, July 2, 2012

Pet Peeves

I have a lot of pet peeves – a lot of things bug me. I know, a pet peeve is supposed to be the one that irks you more than any other, but I have a hard time deciding on just one. So instead, I keep a running list. It has grown quite large over the years. The list includes; slow drivers when I can’t pass, people getting my order wrong at a restaurant, anything resembling rock music, waiting in long lines when I’m in a hurry – and of course, I’m always in a hurry. Also on the list: shaving with a dull razor, high prices of practically anything, winter – in its entirety, and running out of ink – even though I have three printers in my office. As you can see, the list covers a broad spectrum of subjects. It’s quite long and there seems to be no common thread other than these things really bug me. I once thought of making one of those tear-away calendars – one with each day of the year. Each sheet would proclaim a different pet peeve for the day. I soon discovered that wouldn’t quite cut it, 365 days just isn’t enough! Perhaps a five-year calendar would work better?

At any rate, now that summer is here, and being that I’m a truck driver, you can probably guess what currently tops my list – road construction, miles and miles of road construction. In itself, the construction wouldn’t be so bad – if the road actually needed repairing. The problem is, most of the construction going on is to replace a perfectly good highway. I think they’re just fabricating jobs and wasting money. I’ve driven the same stretch of road for more than fifteen years, this summer marks the fifth time they’ve resurfaced the same portions of that road. Then, to make things worse, the construction brings about another of my pet peeves – slow drivers. I don’t mind that they slow down a little, but when the posted construction zone speed limit is 50 mph, and I routinely follow people through it at 30 mph, or even slower, I get a bit antsy.

To my credit, to date, I have not used the 95,000-pound semi to push anyone out of my way! I’ll admit it sounds tempting and could easily be done - but no, I just take a breath and add the driver to my list. And then add another half an hour or so to my day, arriving home much later than I should have – you guessed it, another pet peeve. Then, that cuts into my time at home – just one more of my pet peeves.

You see my problem? How one thing leads to another? Pretty soon, a cascading of pet peeves is released. As they pile up, my list keeps growing. It’s getting hard to keep track of them all.

I suppose I could just quit my job – and eliminate over half the items on the list in one shot. But, not having any income and eventually, no vehicle and no house (or much of anything else), my list would again balloon, and probably be larger than it is now. I guess the only thing I can do is complain about it.

Perhaps I should revisit the idea of a calendar. Is there such a thing as a ten-year calendar? That might do it. Writing everything down and then tearing off the paper might even prove therapeutic. My wife says far too many things bug me. Maybe so. She’s usually right about that kind of stuff. Hmm. Where is my list?