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It was the early 60’s and my best friend, Bill, and I were in college.  We were taking a coffee break in the café across the street from the classroom.  I’d been through the line, paid for my tray and had taken a seat across from him.  Then all hell broke loose.  I bit into my sweet roll and as I pulled it away from my mouth, I noticed a kinky, black hair protruding from the section where I’d just taken my bite. 

Did I mention that I have a weak stomach or that a hair in my mouth will almost always make me puke?  No, I didn’t, but that’s only because at that particular time neither of those, now true, comments were yet to become fact.  That day, actually at that very moment, I became a sniveling, weak stomached, up-chucking wimp.

I immediately dropped the sweet roll and made a dash for the bathroom, covering my mouth with both hands to catch the up-chuck that was making its way up from my stomach.  The café was probably only about 15’ wide, but it made up for that fact by being about 20 yards deep and the bathroom was in the very rear.  I still had a long way to go and my hands were already beginning to fill up. 

Suffice it to say, that day doesn’t bring back pleasant memories, though it’s a day that I’ll never forget.  That was the day that I first realized that I have a weak stomach and that a hair could make me up-chuck. Or, in this case, a half of a hair.  Half of a black, kinky hair to be more precise. 

When I got back to the table, Bill started in.  He’s always been a quick-witted guy who was never at a loss for words and that day was no exception.  It’s too many years ago to remember exactly what he had to say, but I believe it went something like this.  “Where do you suppose the rest of that hair is?  Did you swallow it?  Where do you suppose it came from?  Black, Kinky…. Could be from somebody’s arm-pit, but more likely, it could be a pubic hair. 

Oh, yeah, he was very helpful.  Just thinking about it made me want to turn around and head back to the bath room.  Let’s just say I could have survived quite well without all that commentary. 

To this day, a hair in my mouth can get me started.  Over the years, I’ve learned to control the up-chuck reflex much better, but it can be difficult and there can still be that mad dash to the bath room.  I’ve relived that day hundreds of times over the last 50 years,,, every time I get a hair in my mouth.

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Gramps use’ta say
R.L.King2012 #559

About: Life’s Truths

“Searching for self is a journey for a lifetime,
life is what happens in between.

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EDITOR’S NOTE: We are both writers.  Please check us out at:

amazon.com/author/richard-lee-king/

amazon.com/author/donnachandler

Kindle versions of most of our books are available at only 99 cents.

MY FIRST CAR

It’s March of 1960.  I’m a week, or two shy of my 16^th birthday.  I’ve been pestering my dad to take me shopping for my very first car for nearly a month now.  I’ve been saving for it for several years and I think I’ve got enough to buy a really nice one, but he’s been dragging his feet. 

Looking back on it now, I can see why.  He knew that I wouldn’t be able drive it anywhere once I got it and he just didn’t want to put up with me constantly badgering him to let me take it for a spin.

Finally, the big day came.  Dad took me to the used car lot of a neighbor that he knew quite well. He felt certain that the neighbor would steer us in the right direction.  As it turned out, however, the very first thing he tried to ‘steer’ me toward, was a damn old 54 four-door Nash Rambler. 

Are you kidding me?  What respectable 16-year-old wants to be seen driving around in a 4 door? A Nash Rambler at that?  It looked like a box with wheels on it.  I’m a Ford kinda guy, show me a Ford. 

Finally, he showed me this beautiful black 1953 Mercury.   It was gorgeous and I fell in love with it from the moment I first saw it.  It was solid black, except for the chrome.  And I gotta tell ya, it had lots of chrome.  

But!  It was a year older than the rambler and the price tag was $50.00 more.  Probably had more miles on it too, but I didn’t care.  That’s the one, I thought, that’s my car.

Of course, since I was still a week shy of my 16^th birthday, I couldn’t even test drive it.  Dad had to do that for me, but I got to ride shot-gun.  To put it succinctly, she hummed like a Swiss clock.  Before we got back to the car lot, I said, “I want this one, OK Dad?”

I bought it right there on the spot. I hauled out the $350.00 that he needed to close the deal and paid cash for it. In today’s dollars, that doesn’t sound like very much, but in 1960 Three Hundred and Fifty Dollars was a pretty healthy sum for a 15-year-old to have accumulated.

Next, we had to figure out how to get it home.  I couldn’t drive it home, cause I still didn’t have my driver’s license.  Finally, our neighbor promised he’d have it delivered to our home the very next day.

You can’t imagine how much I hated the thought of leaving that car lot without my money, or my car.   Boy oh boy, talk about your sleepless nights, I just couldn’t wait for it to show up.

When it finally did, I spent the next several hours just sitting in it, getting the buttons on the radio pre-set to all my favorite country music stations, getting my tool box situated in the trunk, vacuuming it out, washing the windows, inside and out, checking the air in the tires and checking, then re-checking all the fluid levels.  It was well after dark when I finally gave it a rest and went into the house.

I was so excited to own this beautiful car.  It would be difficult for you to even begin to understand that feeling of pride and the feeling of freedom that was just around the corner for me, once I finally got my license.  I couldn’t wait to drive my new car to school and show it to my friends.

Truth be known, other than the day they delivered my car, the day I turned 16 was probably the best day in my life.  Looking back on it, although I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time, I think Dad understood just how important that day was to me.  He came home from work early that day, so he’d be able to take me to the licensing bureau before they closed.  My 16^th birthday and I’m finally legal to drive.  It just don’t get no better than that.

Dad had recently gotten me a job, working as an attendant, at a service station.  (More about that at another time.)  I couldn’t start my new job until I turned 16 and had my driver’s license, but the day after I turned 16, was my first day on the job and, as soon as I started learning about my duties, I started learning a lot of new things about taking care of my car.

This car would now be cared for like it had never been cared for. I washed it every few days, waxed it 3 or 4 times in the first few months after I bought it, changed the oil, gave it a grease job, and constantly checked all the fluids.   …Again, and again.

All of that was over sixty years ago.  Today, if my car is going to get washed, it better rain.  Or maybe I’ll take it through the car-wash at the Mobil station.  But I sure ain’t gonna be washing it myself, and I damn sure won’t be putting any wax on it.

Gramps use’ta say
©R.L.King2012 #568

About: Enlightenment

“If you’re ever to see the light,
you must first confront your own darkness.”

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EDITOR’S NOTE: We are both writers.  Please check us out at:

amazon.com/author/richard-lee-king/

amazon.com/author/donnachandler

Kindle versions of most of our books are available at only 99 cents.