Q&A time, and another Friday trip to Dynasty.

Recently went over to the Shrinkwrapped Scream, and read a post she wrote answering questions put to her by another blogger. Kind of a meme, but different. Her answers were great. She said if anyone was game, to speak up and send her a comment. I did, and she emailed me these questions.

My job now is to answer her questions and then pass this thing on to anyone who desires to be grilled. So, here we go. My answers are in blue. Her first question:

1) Let's begin with a little background. I know you grew up as a military brat. Did that mean your father was often absent? If so, what impact, if any, did it have upon family dynamics? Were you closer to anyone in particular there? On average, what was the longest time you stayed in one house? Did you ever get boarded? If so, did you enjoy that experience?

Holy shit! Is that all one fuckin' friggin' question? Ok, first of all, my dad was in the Air Force, so we went where he went. If he'd been in the Navy or Merchant Marine, or if he'd gone to Vietnam, we would have had long periods without him, but the way things were, he basically had a 9 to 5 job. He drove to the base in the morning and then home for dinner in the evening. We just lived in a foreign country while some of this was going on. Mom ran the house and took care of us, and dad was the bread winner. They saw it as a partnership, and it mostly worked out well.

We lived in England from 67 to 70, but the rest was in the US, in places like Nebraska, Missouri, and Texas. I was born in Bermuda, at the Kinley Air Force Base hospital, in 1960. My sister was born in England, during my families first tour there in the early '50s.

Longest time we were anywhere during dads career was maybe 3 years. Then, after he retired, we spent 18 years in Ft. Worth, living on the southwest side of town.

I guess I was closer to mom as a kid, but really, I don't remember being too close to any of them. I was a loner, in my room most of the time, in my own world. We were (my sis and I) just beginning to get the hang of living there, making friends, when we were picked up and moved to Missouri. Starting over was rough, but that was our life.

Some people deal with that by learning to be more gregarious and outwardly fun loving (sis) and some by shutting into themselves (me). Got used to living that way, and I'm only now trying to learn how to work my way out of it. No boarding schools for me, but it might have been a good thing.

2) An extension of no.1 really. What is your adult relationship like with your family? Do you all live near to each other? How did you choose to settle where you did? Are you settled, or can you see yourself living elsewhere at some point?

We've been through a lot together, the Wilson clan, and we're still a tight little unit. Sis jokes about how no one else is allowed in, trying to explain why nether of us have been able to have much of a successful social life. She left home at 19, getting away from the folks in a rage over stuff that seems stupid now, but I got along with the folks pretty well.

I was in school or working most of the time, and did my own cooking and cleaning, laundry included, but I stayed at home till I was about 30. I lived at home through college and grad school, and then got the job in March of '90, living and working on Navy ships that were deployed around the world, but all my stuff was still with Mom and Dad.

I loved the hell out of that job. Sailed or flew around the world several times, seeing a war and a lot of other eye opening things. I grew up a hell of a lot in the process. When my folks decided in the summer of '93 to move from Ft. Worth to Temple, to be close to my ailing maternal Grandmother, they moved all my stuff there too. I looked into teaching on the base here while I was between cruises, went out on one more ship, and then started teaching on Ft. Hood part time in January of '94.

Lived with the folks while I made car payments on the new Jeep (was makin' about 16 or 18 grand a year then), payin' it off as quick as I could, and then moved out in the summer of '97 to go back to school in San Marcos, to get qualified to teach more classes. Been out of their house since then, but still see them all the time. Take Dad to eat Chinese food every Friday night, and see Mom on Fridays and usually on the weekend.

After staying away for a long time, Sis has moved closer to be near the folks as they get older, and she and I are still single. I'll be here, teachin' on Ft. Hood, as long as they are alive. When they both go, It'll be a wrenching experience, breaking a connection that is basic to my existence, but I've grown pretty strong since I flew off to Naples on that first teaching job, and I know I'll make it through, with the help of good friends. Then, who knows? Think some times about selling everything and going out on the ships again. Seeing the world again. Who knows?

3) What was your first paid job? What did you see yourself doing when you first left school? What are you doing now, and what would be your dream job? Oh, one more (I can fit as many sub-questions as I like in here, we're playing by my rules now, my friend) did you ever follow in your fathers footsteps and join the military, and if not, why not?

My first paying Job? I had a job at a local Revco drug store in high school, and then one at the Seminary South Cinema in Ft. Worth. Nether lasted too long. I was a scared little puppy, and didn't deal well with crowds or anything else back then. I made some money for a while mowing lawns, and then I started getting VA money in college, from Dad's retirement pension, and that allowed me to avoid the inevitoble for a while.

Then I found out about a tour to the Soviet Union, run out of the Russian language department at UTA (I took Russian in school). My folks told me if I wanted to go, I'd have to get a job and raise the $2000 myself. I found a great job through a buddy as a security guard at an oil company named Gearhart Industries, off I-35 on the south side of Ft. Worth. Put the VA money in the bank along with most of the money that Gearhart payed me. I kept that job for years. They basically payed me to sit and study, and drive a cool old LTD around the place and jam.

Loved the midnight shift that first year. Cool nighttime temps in the Texas summers, and very few people to mess with ya. Eventually I went on that tour, and spent 5 weeks in Europe, including 2 1/2 weeks in the Soviet Union (summer of '83). When I got back, I moved to the 4-12 shift. I learned a lot about other people, and myself, in those years. Had that job till the place went under during the oil glut of the mid '80s. Still see the place every time I drive up I-35 to Ft. Worth to see friends. Lots of good memories there.

A little while later, while I was in grad school, I got a job as a night shift security guard at the Colonial Country Club. That place was a trip, I wanna tell ya. Rich people are crazy, and a huge pain in the ass. Had the keys to all the walk-ins and was there all night, mostly by myself. Perfect job for a fat hairy shut-in. I started working out at a gym while I worked there, and while I finished grad school. I lost a lot of weight and got stronger, and felt a bit better about myself, actually had a girlfriend for a while, but nothing came of it. I still mostly stayed to myself, and didn't let her get close. I missed out on a lot of fun in my 20s and 30s, because I was so painfully shy. Wish I knew the hell why, but there's no going back and fixing it.

When I got my Masters in History, I put out a lot of resumes, trying to get a job teaching History at a community college. After about a year, the folks at Central Texas College called, wanting me to fly off to Naples, Italy and get on a destroyer, the USS Thorn. Scared the piss out of me, but I did it anyway. I almost turned around and flew home half way through the trip over, but made myself do it, and ended up having a great time. I loved the hell out of that job. It changed my life. I felt real confidence for the first time. Felt like a grown-up for the first time. Think I got real respect from my father for the first time.

Today I teach History and Government for Central Texas College and Tarleton State University. I'm still officially part-time, but get all the benefits of a full time teacher, and make as much money, or more, than a full time professor. Just have to teach more classes to do it. As far as my dream job, It'd probably be the one I have now, only makin' a LOT more money and workin' a lot less. Well, ether that or playin' slide guitar in a blues band, or piano in a cat house.

And no, I never joined the military, though I did do two years in ROTC in college. If I had it to do over again, 18 again, being the man I am now, I think I'd enjoy the hell out of it. The kid I was back then though, they'd a eaten me alive. I'm a very different person now.

4) Who was your first love, how old were you, how did you meet, are you still together, and if not, why? When was the last time you saw her?

Back in England, just before we were sent home to the states, I began to come out of my shell a bit. Had a few friends, and some of them were horny as hell. I was in a strip club for a while; little kids (8 or 9 years old), goin' out in the woods and showing the others what we had. Show and tell. One girl, don't remember her name, showed us everything, and we hit it off. We crawled into a bush once or twice and rubbed asses, not knowin' what the hell we were doin'. I think If we'd stayed in England for another few years, I might have lost it in about the 5th or 6th grade. Those girls were crazy. Her mom found out about it all and I never saw her again.

Anyway, a while later, just before we left town, my heart was broken by the little girl next door. Her name was Marsha. I hung out with her for a long time and we did everything together, till one day I saw her with another girl, sitting on the grass, watching the other kids play ball. I walked up to her and tried to talk to her, but she just flat out told me that she wasn't going to play with me any more. I was stunned. I went back the house, climbed to the top of the wooden fence that separated our yards, and I cried my eyes out.

Her dad came out and asked me what was wrong, and I told him "Marsha doesn't love me any more." I was fucking destroyed. He didn't say much. Turned around and walked back in the house. My mom told me later that she suspected that her folks had told her to stop playing with me. Didn't want their little Catholic daughter getting to close to the Protestant kid next door. Shit, I didn't know one from the other, but I think I learned to stay to myself from then on. Being out there was too painful.

Believe it or not, that was it for romance. We moved to Missouri, and I went back in my shell. We moved a few more times, and I think I missed out on whatever stage of socialization that teaches you how to relate to others and be a normal human being. In stead I learned how to fake it, and got pretty good at it. Still tryin' to work my way out of all that crap today, with the help of some friends. It's the one thing I still have left to learn about being a fully human being.

Met someone recently; British, ex service wife, administrator at the college. She's a bit older, but still very well preserved. Sweet as hell, and smart. Found out tonight we have the same birthday! What the hell are the odds of that? We'll see what happens.

5) Money is no object, you have given to the charities and causes you support, what do you want to do with the rest of your life?

If I didn't have to work, and could do anything? Dude, the fish would all be in sooooo much trouble. I'd do nothing but travel the world, fishing and canoing, and seeing friends.

I'd rent one of those huge yachts and pay for all my blogger buds to sail to Alaska, or Fiji, or wherever.

I'd buy about 500 acres on the edge of a national park in northeast New Mexico and live like a king. Live simple, self-sustaining, off the grid, but very well. I'd have a place in the Hill Country of Texas too, and Alaska. Damn, I can spend imaginary money like a fool.

Seriously, I'd probably get a PhD in History just for the hell of it, and then spend the rest of my life taking care of my friends. We'd do all the stuff we ever dreamed of doing, and I'd pay the bills. What the hell else is money for?

Well, that's more crap about me than anyone ever needed to know. Question is, do YOU want to be interviewed?

Interview rules:

1. Leave me a comment saying “Interview me.”

2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.

3. You will update your blog with a post containing your answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Ok folks, who's on first?

Well, It's Friday, so you know what I'll be doing tonight. I'll take dad out to eat Chinese, visit with mom for a while, and then probably look up that new friend. New wrinkle on the old routine. It'll take some getting used to, but I think I can handle it.

Grading their first exam, watchin' 'em sweat.

God I love this job! My 7:30pm History class had their first exam last night. The new fish are always nervous, and I always have a good time milkin' it.

OK, call me a son of a bitch, but there are very few perks to this gig, and you gotta take what enjoyment you can. I start out by lingering a bit in handing out the test. They are usually bouncing off the walls, trying to compare notes with one another, reviewing, when I walk in. One will be telling the others his or her version of what they think I want them to know, and I give them a look, and say something like "Huh? Who told you that?"

They try to get me to give them answers, or tell them hints. "So, was it the Sugar act or the Tea act?", and I just shrug my shoulders and tell them "Pff, I dunno."

I leave the briefcase on the desk with the exams in it (they won't dare touch it), and I go get myself a soda, which takes a few minutes. I usually see someone in the hall, a colleague or former student, and chat for a sec. We're not supposed to drink in the classrooms, but fuck the rules. I talk for a living, not shuffle papers, so I needs me whistle whetted now and then. Rules are for nervous people. I was given a bit of wisdom a long time ago; it's always easier to apologise than to get permission. Words to live by.

I get back to class and I walk up to the podium and begin to turn on the computer in class, which takes a minute, and pretty soon one or two students are telling me things like "Come on, I'm forgetting stuff. Lets go!" I giggle. I start to hand out the answer sheet, and a few folks always think it's the test and start putting away their notes. I tell them "This is just the answer sheet. You can continue cramming." More giggles from the audience.

Then I start handing out the exam, and as I do, I give them my standard speech. "Read each question VERY carefully (pause for effect), on accounta I'm a tricky bastard!" That gets a few laughs and moans of dread. They always laugh when I cuss in class. Not supposed to, but screw it. We're all adults here. Shit, THEY cuss in class! Soldiers for Christ sakes! The gals cuss like the guys do.

More instructions; "Please don't write on the test. When you're done, bring it up here and I'll grade it (pause for effect) and then I'll shout your grade out to the class." THAT one always gets a good giggle and moan. I had a prof who actually did that. Bastard.

Is this wrong? Am I a bad person?

Well, it's mostly harmless fun. Most of them do well, and the ones that don't, usually do better on the second or third exams. If they bomb them all, well, I'll be teachin' the class again next semester. It keeps me in a job.

On another note, I'm still scanning old pictures now and then, and I've found a few that might amuse you.



How's that form? Jesus, I look like I'm trying to beat the ball into submission, rather than hit it down the fairway. I think this is from one of the last times I played golf with dad, about 10 years ago in Ft. Worth. The golf course is the one he loved at Carswell Air Force Base, now a Reserve Fighter Base/Naval Air Station. This place was practically his second home, from the mid- '70s to the mid-'90s. He played 2 to 3 times a week, in most weathers, and used to beat all his friends, till he got a bit older and began the slide. Beautiful course, now even nicer since the Navy took it over and spent an ass load of money on the place. We've driven by now and then to check it out, when I've taken him up there for one reason or another.

I found a picture of my old '82 Trans AM the other day, in this box of old shots. Ol' Mushy cleaned it up for me a bit, master picture manipulator that he is. That's our first cat, Calico, doing a little stalking. Doesn't mom do a great job with a yard?



My folks got me this car in about '85, for graduating from college. It was about three years old then, but still in new condition. I tried to get dad to think about a Honda CRX. Wanted to be responsible, but he never listened to me. He'd just grin and do what he thought was best. Ignore what I said, buy me the one he liked, and then expect me to be grateful. Hell, it was still better than payin' for it myself, and it was cool as hell, so I didn't complain. My insurance rate went through the roof; from about $250 a year to $1200. He laughed loudly at me about that, and that pissed me off. Thinkin' about that reminded me of something that happened back in about '71 or '72. I think the situations are somewhat similar.

I had outgrown my old bike by then. It was also a red sex machine. Purdy. Bright candy apple red, with a banana seat and sissy bar. The thing then was to copy the look of an outlaw chopper. The coolest ones had the tallest sissy bars, and the longer stretched out handlebars. Some folks even rigged them to have extended front forks. We'd plaster them with these fuzzy stickers out of cereal boxes, or wherever, to personalize them. There was usually a piece of duct tape here or there, and playing cards in the spokes, attached with clothes pins. Those were the days.

My folks had ordered it when we were still in England, and I loved the hell out of it. Rode it everywhere, on all the trails around our house in Kansas City, Missouri, and even up the steep hills, standing up and pumping the peddles. I loved it and I didn't want to give it up, but dad decided it was time to get an adult size bike for me to ride. I guess I was gettin' big, and was too tall to keep riding the one I had. Wish I knew what happened to that thing. Dad probably sold it. Fuck it. You can't stay a kid forever.

The newest thing around back then were 3 speeds and 10 speeds, particularly with the cool rams horn shaped racing handle bars and no fenders. Some kid in the neighborhood rode up to my friends and I out near the woods with one of those one day, sliding to a stop and spinning out in the mud, and I was stunned at how cool it was, and how fast it was. So when dad and I went to the local T.G.&Y. up the hill one day to get my new bike, I made sure to point out the one that was the perfect choice. It was a 3 speed with no fenders and the cool handlebars. I think it was white, or grey. I can't remember, but I was smitten.

10 speeds always seemed gaudy to me. Too much bullshit. Hell, you never used more than a few of those gears anyway, right? 3 was enough. One for goin' down hill, one for goin' up hill, and one for just peddlein' yer ass off. What the hell else did you need?

While I'm pickin' out the coolest and most practical one, tryin' to get dad's attention, he's pickin' me out the most fancy bike they had. It was a 10, turd brown, with fenders and lots of chrome, and the same conventional handlebars that every other old bike had. It looked like an old woman's bike to me at the time, even though it had the nut cruncher bar of a guys bike (who thought to put that fuckin' thing there anyway?). Hell, it was more expensive than the one I wanted, but he wasn't listening.

I was horrified. How the hell was I gonna look riding that thing? He didn't listen, I can picture this like it was yesterday. I go up to him while he's talkin' to the salesman, pointing back at the one I wanted, and he's acting like I'm annoying him. His mind was made up. I might as well have not even been standing there.

Well, he bought it for me, and I learned to like it, even though it always seemed a bit too much. I rode it hard, and put it through a lot of punishment. Didn't treat it like the high toned thing it was. Finally, one day in Junior high, late to class, I left it unlocked on the bike rack with all the others, and some other kid decided he needed it more than I did. Hope that fucker got hit by a car.

To replace it, dad looked in the paper and found a nice bike up a few streets away, on another block. He paid $50 for a used 10 speed, red this time, with those cool racing handle bars that I'd wanted before. I remember how much it cost because he made me pay him for it. He got me a job mowing lawns in the neighborhood, and when I did a lawn, he got the money. $5 a lawn. Paid for the bike, and his golf balls for a while.

I figured out some time later that my dad probably hadn't had much of a childhood, working hard from a very young age, picking cotton, wearing hand-me-downs, living on another mans land, and he probably had a need to see his kid in the nicest gear. Needed to be seen as a guy who was well off, and whose family was well taken care of. Insecurity... Drives people crazy after a while I think (wink).

I drove that Trans-AM till I started teaching on the ships in 1990, by which time it was faded and worn down. I never took care of it. I was spoiled, sheltered, and had grown up with dad doing everything for me. He always felt like he was being slighted if he didn't get to make all the decisions. I'll never forget how nervous I was just putting gas in the car the first time by myself at a self serve. Jesus! I can't imagine being that young and unprepared for the world, now that I'm the man I am. The innocence and fear of everything didn't stop at gas pumps ether, but that's for another post. Still workin' that crud out, but it's fast getting behind me, with he help of a few good friends (big wink).

When I shipped out the second time to the Mediterranean, and had realized that I was going to be off on the ships most of the time for a good while, I told dad to sell the car. Turned out, his idea of getting one that a dumb kid would wet himself over eventually paid off. He got me $3000 for it. I couldn't believe it. Some man came to the house, looked under it, checked it out, and bought it for his kid. I put the money in the bank, and drove their car between ships till I decided to give up the traveling and began teaching on Ft. Hood in about '94. I needed a car, and had saved up about $5000 for the down payment. Wanted a Jeep so bad I could taste it, but dad gave me a lot of shit about that.

This time though I was determined. I was gonna be makin' the payments, so I was gonna get the car I fuckin' wanted. He tried to change my mind the whole time. I think he was seeing Jeeps as still the old bumpy things from the war that he'd driven back then. I stuck to it. I'd been around the world by myself a few times by then, and seen a few things, and I wasn't that little kid anymore. The Jeep I finally got turned out to be a great car. She was my baby for 12 years.



Had about 32,000 miles on it when I got it, and about 347,000 on it when I traded it in for $500 and a 2003 Toyota Solara, about 6 months ago. Damn, I miss that car still. 1991 Cherokee, 2 door, 5 speed stick. It got about 23 to 25 mpg, and looked cool as hell with those wheels and that red and yellow stripe down the black sides.

Funny thing was, Dad fell in love with it after I brought it home. I think he was proud that I'd made such a good choice. That's my first tent on the left, by the way. Timberline Vista. Had windows on all sides for ventilation. Still around here somewhere, dried out in a bag. Took both cool toys on many a hike, canoe and camping trip back in the '90s. We were a threesome. Now my silver/grey Solara reminds me of the feelings I had driving that red TA, blasting Floyd as loud as I could on the 6x9s, though now the new 6x9s are joined by a few more speakers, and the Floyd is mostly Roger Waters, blaring from the CD changer. It's good to grow up.

Dad loves my Solara too. Always says so when I go to pick him up for our regular Friday feed. He's not the same man that I used to hate, back in the old days. He has to wear diapers now, and he doesn't remember half the things he used to know. Most of the things he talks about now seem more like dreams, half real and half imagined. He's not that pushy, controlling bastard any more. He's a helpless old guy. Sweet, and I love him to death.

Every once and a while, old memories flash by my mind and I get a rush of anger over some stupid thing he did 35 or 40 years ago, or something much more important that he didn't do, but there's a statute of limitations on childhood crap like that. As soon as I drive up today, and I see him come out the door, and he looks at me and grins and says "Howdy padna!", I'll forget all that bullshit and we'll head out to Dynasty, where the waiters know us, and they fetch his plate for him, and treat him like a king.

I probably only have a short time left with him, and when he's gone, I'll have these memories to counterbalance all the others. I'll cry for a very long time, but I'll live on, and I'll take care of mom as she goes through the same process somewhere down the road. This is our fate, my sister and I. It's the same fate shared by so many other baby boomers these days. Our health care system has figured out how to extend life far beyond the joy of living, and our gutless readers won't let us make the decision to end it for ourselves. They are SO much wiser that we are (gag).

We're a unit unto ourselves, the Wilson family. Nobody else is allowed in. We traveled the world together, and put up with one anthers shit for years, and worked out enough of our anger so that we could keep putting up with one another till the bitter end. Now that I'm pulling away, and letting myself out of this cage, taking on my part of the role of the parent and caretaker for my own father, I'm determined to do a better job than he did. he deserves it, and It gives me immense satisfaction.

Well damn, now that I've bummed you out, go out and have a great weekend! I finally figured out how to use the flash on the Razor, but I'd bet you're sick of looking at the Generals "chicken". Take care of yourselves, and listen to your kids, and don't let them grow up to be afraid. Teach them to be brave and self assured. Do it for me. Do it for them, and do it for yourself. I'll see you later.