Old School

There’s an old dude that sings a song about “keeping on rocking in the free world.” His name is Neil Young and he was some sort of a freedom-fighter in his day. I keep on tilling my own garden and blazing my own trail…… that doesn’t make a hero but rather, an individual. I prefer the term “independent”. 

While the other boys were playing football in the yard or piled on the couch with Nintendo, I enjoyed digging up bullets in the police shooting range. I rode my bicycle with a fishing pole strapped across my handle-bars. 

We were told to go outside and play and when it was dinner time Dad would step outside and whistle for us. He did that two fingers in the mouth “loud-whistle” that they use at concerts and when your favorite team scores a touchdown. When you heard Dad whistle, you knew it was time to get on home. I guess parents just text the kids now or send them a message on Facebook. Since the chances are their kids are somewhere in the house, holding some electronic device. 

Yard darts and pogo-sticks have been replaced by toys less likely to poke your eye out. 

I learned most of the stuff I know by watching my Dad or the neighbor man. Parents had to set some sort of example since their kids were watching them. Now their kids are too busy learning the rules from Google and YouTube. Times have changed since I was young. 

I hear about cars that will drive themselves and robots that will clean your home. It’s these kids who are google babies that love those ideas. More time for them to “surf the web” or whatever they do. No thanks! 

I want my own hand on the wheel, top-down, cruising the road with the radio on. Oh Yeah…I can plug up on Mp3 to the car and listen to my own playlist. No more commercials. OK, so technology does have some perks. 

It scares me to hand over more and more of my “hand on the wheel” for something else handling my business. I’m just not a fan of that. 

My lady tells me the other day she walked 7 miles before noon. I asked her how she knew? She replied that her IPhone tracks her movement and lets her know how far she’s traveled. If your phone tracks you, then so can anyone else who can get into your phone’s data….You can call ME on my old school Nokia. 

Don’t track me nowhere with a GPS. You can find me at the end of a dirt road. Track me to the lake…sitting at the end of the dock with my baby watching a sunset. Follow my fishing line from the bobber to the boat….where I’ll be chilling. 

And when you text me -- expect a real live call back. If you don’t have time for me, then I won’t have time for you. 

Three years and I’ll be home Momma. Keep the light on. 

Wild, Wild West

So, here I sit listening to some country music drawing the American Dream. OK.  Perhaps not "America's" dream, just some dude's dream....which would be a chick with a big gun.  Likewise, women may share that same dream.  Well, a man with a big gun.  And.....that opens up a whole new topic.  I am now a convicted felon, and not allowed to own a firearm.  So, instead of a gun hanging in my truck's back window, there will be a bow with some arrows.

The other day, I promised my lady that I will still keep our home safe and secure.  No, I cannot pop-a-cap in an intruder.  Instead, he will feel like he stepped into the wild, wild west.  Meet Ted Fuckin' Nugent. 

Break into my house and I'm gonna light your ass up like a trophy buck, then I'm gonna do a little warrior dance.  I told my girl that instead of a musket above our fireplace mantle, we will hang a recurve bow.  She laughs.  She is always laughing at me.  I asked if I can wear a coon-skin cap.  She doesn't care.  Most women would recommend counseling, or some meds....not my lady.  She says I'm sweet. There is really nothing sweet about me.  I mean I hope that someone does break into my house just so that I can shoot them with a bow, in a coon-skin cap, and then do my warrior dance.


Hmmm.  This topic presents another aspect also.  Most fathers pass on hunting and fishing to their kids.  I possess a number of talents.  Not many should be passed to the younger generation.  Looks like fishing it is.  Thing is, fishing is boring.  So then we throw rocks in the water.  I may not be able to shoot guns, but I can throw a mean rock.  I'm also a fairly good shot with a bow. 

Do you suppose David's daddy was a felon?  Well, I mean he taught David to use the sling so well that David killed Goliath with a rock.  That's a pretty good shot. 

So, I see my kids telling their friends...."Well, I can't come over today because my dad is taking me to shoot the bow and practice the sling."  Really, that's fine.  Too many kids sit inside with a Nintendo controller in their hands.  My kids?  They are going to roam the neighborhood with sling shots.  HA!  The only time I'll get to shoot a gun is on their Nintendo.  That's a plan....I'll send them outside to throw rocks, while dad takes over the Nintendo.  Ahhh....parenting isn't so hard after all.  I will need to make sure the kids are throwing rocks at someone else's house....not ours.  (Oh, settle down....I am joking!  Well, not about not throwing rocks at our house.  But, I do know that they shouldn't be throwing rocks at anybody's house.) 

OK.  Just one more thing.  I have been listening to a  lot of country lately.  Zac Brown Band!  You guys ROCK!  Rascal Flatts, could you put some bass in your voice?  The lyrics are great though.

Hmmmm....I guess that's about all for now.  I'll check back later.  You all keep it real now.