The Time

The time when I was a kid and ordered a nudist colony magazine including plenty of pictures that said it would come in a brown paper wrapped package. The lady postmaster and family friend personally delivered the magazine to my mother.  They were both sitting in the living room with the magazine waiting on me when I got home from school.

The time when I was a kid and decided to drive my mama’s new Oldsmobile Vista station wagon around our driveway with my eyes closed.  I ran into the side of our house.  I was hoping nobody would see the damage to the car… or the house.  They did see both.  There was discipline involved.

The time I was invited to a birthday party where the group would be on a live kids TV show in Columbus, GA.   During the first part of the show we were told to line up and we would each pass by Cap O Hap who had the microphone and to introduce ourselves.  All the parents were gathered around their TV’s with their antennas pointing to Columbus to see their kids.  It was a big deal.   My nickname was Lucy and my friend’s nickname was Woochie.  Although all the kids were giving their real names to the Cap, my friend and I agreed to use our nicknames.  He went first.   “My name is Whoochie Byrd from Reynolds, GA.”  I followed but chickened out.  “My name is Bruce Goddard from Reynolds, GA. 

Speaking of that friend, the time in the third grade we realized we had the same girlfriend.  It was heartbreaking at first and could have ruined a good friendship.  But when her birthday came around we came up with a good plan.  We went in together and bought a small red suitcase (or training case it may have been called).  We signed the card.  “We love you!  Woochie and Lucy. 

The time my older brother and his friend had started a club and wanted to know if I wanted to join.  For the initiation, I had to jump out of the bedroom window buck naked and run around the house.   Of course, I wanted to join.   I did as instructed.  When I ran around the house and got back to the bedroom, they had closed the window and both were nowhere to be found.   I had to go to the front door and ring the doorbell to get back in the house.  I never asked how Mama explained that to her Bible Study group who was meeting in the living room.

The time my grandfather called me to his house to change his broken toilet seat.  He told me the new seat was in his utility house in the back yard.  I took the seat off and went to the backyard to get the new one.  The new one turned out to be the one he took off the same toilet about 15 years earlier.  He saw no reason to spend the money to purchase a new seat.

The time my grandfather called my brother and me back to his office.  He said he wanted to give us a Christmas present.  We were excited as he had never done that before.  He pulled out his very large checkbook.  He wrote a check to me for $10 and wrote a check to my brother for $7.50.   He knew I was planning to come back one day to take over the family business and my brother had no such intentions.

The time I put a perfectly placed golf tee on the pew in front of me at the Reynolds UMC on a Sunday morning when everybody was standing and singing “When We All Get to Heaven.”   When my friend sat on the tee after the song, he immediately jumped up and yelled.  Some thought he had caught the spirit.  My mother was not one of those.  She came down out of the choir loft and escorted me to the front row in front of God and all the congregation.

The time the preacher stopped in the middle of the sermon and said, “If the boys on the 3^rd row will stop talking, I will continue the sermon.”

The time when I was 9 years old and my older sister was graduating from high school. I think it may have been at the Baccalaureate Service.  I also think it was my first experience with IBS (there would be many more).  My mama had me dressed in a coat and tie.  Somewhere during the ceremony, I completely dirtied my pants.  If I had been older, I would have excused myself or called the fire department for help.  But in my youth, I sat there in it.  After the ceremony, I was standing next to my sister in some sort of receiving line.  I never said a word.  But the expressions on faces as they shook my sister's hand or hugged her neck spoke volumes.

The time my future wife and two of her friends were singing a trio as part of a service to dedicate a prayer room at the Baptist church. The song they were attempting to sing was, “The Savior is Waiting.”  Someone in the trio had a growl of the stomach as they began to sing.  The girls got tickled and had to stop singing.  They attempted about three re-starts but laughter would prevail.  They finally sat down and the pianist played the song… alone.  I am not sure about the savior but my wife’s mother was waiting when she came out of the church building.

The time I was bullied in school and my dad gave me some sage advice very much against my mama’s wishes.   “Tomorrow hit him as hard as you can with your fist right between his eyes.”  I took my daddy’s advice and he never bullied me again. 

The time a few of my friends and I peed on the gas space heater in the visitors dressing room before a junior high basketball game.  Our principle and coach (same person) who I had never heard say a bad word in my life, came in our dressing room and loudly asked (and I quote), “Who is the smart ass that pissed on the heater?”

The time when my grandfather died at 97 years old.  His wife called me when she found him in his chair.   When I got there, I could not help but notice that days edition of  Macon Telegraph in his hands.  It was  carefully folded to the obituary page.  I mentioned that if he had waited one more day, he could have read his own.  

The time my grandmother died and my wife and I took her casketed body to Fort Myers FL in our Chevy Astro van for burial. That journey is full of stories including locking her in the van with the keys inside.  We had to call a locksmith at 1AM to get the door open.  His expression when he realized we had my deceased grandmother in the van is an expression I will never forget.  I suspect he never forgot my expression either.

The time my daddy walked in the Dealer Burger Diner with a pistol in his pocket filled with blanks.  He played like he was upset because there was not enough sugar in the jar for his coffee.  He pulled out the pistol and shot a few times at the ceiling.  Everybody in the diner hit the floor.  That would not go over very well today.   In fact, I am not sure it went over very well then.

The time a couple of my friends were on the sidewalk showing off two very large strings of fish caught on a big lake about three hours from town.  Of course, daddy took a picture of the proud fishermen and their big catch.  He told them he would send the picture to the local paper.   He did not mention what he planned to use as the caption.  “Fish caught Thursday afternoon at Lawrence Cook’s pond.”   Lawrence, my dad’s lifelong friend who was not one to open his private pond up for the public, almost fainted when he saw it in the paper.

The time my daddy backed into my car three times in one day during Master’s week.  The first time was in the driveway at the funeral home in Reynolds when he was getting ready to leave for Augusta.  The second was about five minutes later when he saw me behind him at the stop sign.  He decided he forgot to tell me something. He put his car in reverse and hit the accelerator.  The third was the same evening at the house in Augusta they had rented.   I was parked behind him in the driveway. We were leaving for dinner. He slammed his car in reverse before I could start my car.  All three incidents were within a 12 hour span.  Each time he blamed it on me.

The time I put a sign on #1 Fairway during the Chicken George Golf Tournament pointing to my friend’s house that sat close to the fairway stating “Free Beer and Clean Restrooms.” They had a lot of unexpected and unwanted business.

The time when my daddy died and we were seeing him for the first time in the casket at the funeral home.  All of a sudden, we realized we had forgotten to go by Cousin Anita’s house to bring her to the funeral home with the rest of the family for the first viewing.  Anita was 96 years old,  a little large and slow moving.  I stated that I would go over to Anita’s house to get her and bring her to the funeral home.  My brother replied, “It would be easier to take Daddy over to see Anita.”