This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
exact name of the town. It was too many years ago to recall and I was just a small boy of maybe six or seven years old. My Stepfather took my mother and I to a local fair where we enjoyed many rides and ate too much cotton candy. It was a magical time for me. A childhood memory I will never forget. Especially since I was traumatized there in an act of cruelty that became indicative of the abuse I would endure throughout my entire life as an overweight child and later as a young man. As we strolled through the crowds of people with crazy rides whirling around and excitements I had never before seen. I happened upon a circle of ponies tethered to a ring. Of course I had to ride one! Forgetting to hand my ticket to the carny who ran the attraction I mounted a pony in anticipation of the ride to come. Only to hear the carny bellow "Get off the pony fat boy!" at the top of his lungs. I was embarrassed and confused. I knew I was not skinny, but fat boy? I wasn't exactly obese either. Just healthy. Needless to say, my stepfather was incensed. In an unusual display of protectiveness He grabbed me off the pony and gave the man a piece of his mind. At the time I believed he was concerned for my feelings. But as the years went by I discovered he was probably just embarrassed for himself. As I grew into a teen I saw my stepfather do many inexplicable things that he himself could probably not rationalize to this day. This is a tale of rural small town North East Texas where I grew up. The tiny town of Tatum, Texas. I was born Phillip Gregory Jones in Ft. Worth, Texas. My first memories as a child were on Harrison Lane in Hurst TX. and my maternal grandmothers home nearby in Forest hill. My mother met and married my step dad after learning of my real fathers propensity for cheating on his wife....with mom. She wanted me to have a good, solid and hard working man to be a role model. She found one in Jesse Inman she just wasn't aware that he had issues. Hell, all men do. We learn this crazy behavior from our imperfect fathers just as generation after generation before us do. It is, as they say, a family tradition. I am sure that my children have some great tales in their minds as well. God, I hope they don't become writers too someday. I would prefer that my skeletons stay in their closet. But I digress. I was legally adopted by my step dad around the age of three years old that is how I came to be an Inman and when I was in the second grade we moved from Hurst Texas to Tatum where life would never be normal for me again. Growing up in Hurst we were able to eat out at a Jack in the box or Mcdonalds. Go to a Mall. Shop and visit with many friends living nearby. This is a busy city we are talking about. Tatum had approximately 1300 people in
he learned his parental technique not from a father at all. I know what little history about my mother and stepfather from what I have heard from other family members which is not much. On this land my step dad bought for us there were two stock ponds. One car wash and a Dairy Queen. Who knows? Maybe that was what attracted him to mother. Dad purchased several Hereford cattle and a bull. Not the laughter.9 acres of Bahia and Bermuda pasture. Now I am not condemning his raising of me at all. But his father had that wanderlust spirit in him and cheated on Nanny and left her alone and I suppose the apple never falls far enough from the tree. He was forced to go to work as a teen to help support his family. There was never a lack of things to do. He was raised mostly alone by my nanny. born Montgomery. Nor the tears. Moving from a large city to a small town was indeed eye opening and difficult. A wonderful God fearing woman who did her best to instill in him hard work. I learned most of what I now know about being a good man from doing the exact opposite of what I saw him do over the years. I attended church services at Tatum First Baptist church every Sunday morning and most Sunday nights. living room complete with fireplace. I had never before been presented with physical labor and as I said before I wasn't exactly thin. But Jesse was a tough man used too hard work and knew nothing else. But I cannot complain as . I hope you enjoy the tale. Tiny Pearl Inman. But she never tamed Jesse's wild spirit. Our life in a small rural East Texas town and the hilarious stories that were my childhood. There have been many renovations but it is still a lovely place. He did his best with the example he had to work with. but by having none. dining room. four bedrooms and two baths with a garage attached. good ethics and a love for God. Most Wednesday nights as well. As I previously mentioned mother was devout and so were my sister and I. Hell. We owned 37. And his name is Jesse Dovard Inman. We built a corral and a barn. One I will never tell. Believing as I do that our experiences define the person you become I wouldn't change a damn thing.it on a good day. So now I will tell you of what I do know. Her name was Judith Ann Inman. She carried her love with him to her grave but that is another story. Mother devoted herself to him and to God with a faith and devotion that were truly remarkable. It is brick and still stands there today. especially when I had a hoe in my hand. Not the sorrow. We had two gardens that had rows that looked to me at that age miles long. One or two gas stations. But honestly I am going on rumors here and do not know enough to tell the whole tale in fairness to all involved. She made certain of that. We began by constructing our house which had a kitchen.
That. Any time we spoke it was like the Spanish inquisition. But that was before I really spent any time with him and began to see that he might be a little off his rocker. I was in the church choir and my sister Angela who was five years younger had piano practice to attend. As years went by and I became a father I saw the stresses he suffered as a father. Maybe it was just me? I used to wonder. Later we would add to this group James Ewing from Illinois and even further on in time my dearest friend to this day Carl Mcquiston a Cajun from Southern Louisiana. We both attended school at Tatum Independent School district where we learned the usual math and English. So it was indeed challenging to spend any quality time with him. But in our group of outcasts we found a place where we belonged and that was all that mattered to us. Or at least very stressed out. All of our fathers worked for local construction companies or at the Texas Utilities power plant and that was common ground and we all attended the same church and school. She also played flute in the school band. But I will say as I mentioned earlier that he did some things that made absolutely no sense to me at all. My constant friends at this time were Stephen Williams and Hugh Seager. The sort of kids who often group together we were not in the "in" crowd or popular in the eyes of our classmates. It only took about a spanking every three years or so to get my kids attention so he must not have done a bad job after all. Now this is from a young boys perspective so maybe these things were not so irrational after all? I will allow you to be the judge of that and I truly hope it will be nearly as entertaining as it was for my mom and I.we were never in very much trouble as young children. A tradition I proudly carried into raising my six children. Whew! No wonder I became such an asshole in later years. history and science and tried our best to learn who we might later become. Feeling that becoming as much like him as possible was my job as a boy in North East Texas. But at the time I felt the man needed therapy in the worst way. with our lack of popularity among our peers was our common bond. We were a motley group. The only problem with that is he seemed to always stick me in the furthest corner of our land from whatever he was doing at the time. When I was able to be around him he always seemed to be yelling at me. and Piano Recitals to perform in. Simply wanting to emulate him as best I could like most of the other boys my age. before I met and developed these friendships I grew up watching my step dad Jesse and trying my best to spend as much time with him as humanly possible. My first really crazy memory of dad and his shenanigans came . But I am getting ahead of myself. Corporal punishment was always a reality if truly needed in our home and he dealt it with a ferocity that insured we would not mess up again for a year or more.
Remember these were young pullets not ready for slaughter yet. was in her element. She was spinning them one in each hand wringing their necks two at a time and dad and I manned the hatchets and logs. A memory no young boy could ever forget. Some made the cut. He ordered several hundred baby chicks and we began our first and only chicken-coop. I suppose they figured we would feed them and keep them and some we did. We had three pastures two on each side for grazing and one in the middle for hay.. My father bellowedkill them all! every last one of them! Kill them allllllllll! My Nanny was there and so was my mother and I. just simple ranch mathematics. So begins the tale of the summer of the great chicken slaughter as my mom and I came to call that summer. So our backyard was awash in blood and the carnage ensued. One summer day in a fit of desperation. All. Chickens were not the only animal frustration that touched off my step dads irrational behavior. One after the other a head would fly off . And Jesse's frustration. as arguing with Jesse Inman was a losing proposition. Much to the dogs delight. We just attached wooden rails to the ground in an attempt to keep the chickens in and our motley group of farm dogs out. Picture in your mind seven to eight flopping chickens running about with no head..22 rifle with one shell and some stray dog on a leash instructing me to come home with only the rifle. Some did not. Mother knew better than to say anything so we did as he commanded. It was two years later I believe that we were finally done eating tough stringy chicken at every meal and I am surprised to this day that I will eat it at all. After the dogs had eaten chicken after chicken. At that time in my life I had never seen anything so insane or hysterical. Nanny... an old veteran of chicken neck wringing. Over and over again.trust me..as he decided to raise chickens one year. You see growing up in the country like we did it was a foregone conclusion that someone once a month or so would always dump some stray out near our home. It was not cruelty. Beheading them as fast as humanly possible. But I cannot count the times dad handed me his .Long.Day. As the day wore on there were chickens flopping and dancing about with no heads and blood spurting from their necks. but kill we did. The two side pastures had our stock ponds and once in awhile he would decide to transfer the cattle from one grazing .... the dead chicken would do his dance of death and then on to the plucking and boiling they would go. So at the beginning we had three hundred and the numbers rapidly dwindled. We built a hen house for the hens to lay in and built a six foot high fence around that out of chicken wire to be the yard for the chickens only he didn't sink it underground. Needless to say as the chicks grew into young pullets the dogs began to get in and eat them and the chicks began to get out and wander. blood spurting from their necks.
12 gauge at the cattle that would stray. harvesting and work. This was looking bad for all involved I thought to myself. It was not all planting. Dumping the bike on at least two or three occasions he would jump back on and continue to blast away.pasture across the center hay meadow to the other grazing pasture. We had many good times together and he did the best that he knew how too. Of course there were good times. But common sense was never his strong suit. He then mounted his 1978 hondamatic 400 motorcycle. But whatever the reason and I am certain there was one we began by opening the gates and as a team we would move the thirteen or so head from one pasture to the other slowly on foot with our arms outstretched and making noises I assume he believed would calm them. Or have an aneurysm from the strain of having to instruct us city slicking chuckle heads in cow herding. He emerged minutes later loading his Remington . Texas. Thank God. Inevitably one or two would somehow slip by mother or I. He ran into a barbed wire fence at one point and almost into the pond on another. Dad worked for Texas Utilities power company and we went to the company picnic every year and each summer he received tickets for Six Flags in Arlington.12 gauge with bird shot. He was beyond pissed. Seeming to grow more and more furious with every shot. We never did anything right to hear him tell it. He was turning purple in rage and I actually worried he might fall out from anger. On this particular day we seemed as usual to be particularly slow and lazy. He finally ran for the house instructing us to wait. deep inside us. Cow after cow slipped the net and He grew incensed beyond anything previously seen before. I will say though that dad showed an amazing talent for shooting that shotgun while riding. . We learned to bury that deep. incurring his wrath. One summer I remember going to Port Aransas. Cranked it with a roar and Revving it up he began chasing the offending cattle and shooting at them wildly! Of course it was all we could do to keep from laughing aloud but we knew to do so would have meant certain and swift judgment at his hands. I mean if he would shoot at a hapless dumb cow what might he do to us? So no. I assume because the grazing had run short on one side. After that was built we had no more repeats of that dramatic day. laughter was not a luxury we could afford. Why wouldn't the stupid cows behave as he wished? Could it be the roaring of the motorcycle? The blasting of the guns report? Or the bird shot that peppered their hides making them run about insanely to escape this madman? The funniest part of this story is that later on someone suggested to Jesse that he build a lane across the back fence with two gates so that he could calmly herd the cattle across with no drama or motorcycle wrecks. Back to the drama unfolding in my memory I recall he raced across the pasture shooting that .
. Made me feel really good about myself. My disguise. Merely recalling a simpler time and the comical things that made up who I am today. So I am not complaining. My little sister and I were close and almost like twins although five years apart. Of course not. If I wanted to mow in a coat he declared maybe I should try this! Well of course that made more sense. It was 100 degrees in the shade. Even though she and I were only half brother and sister and only shared a mother together. It was a dark blue and covered in fishing patches. We were raised by the same father and until I was thirteen I believed Jesse to be my natural father. Now this story isn't really funny but it happened and maybe reading it some fathers will see the need to try to reason through the actions of the sons they are trying to raise and not just react to the crazy things we do that they don't understand.. Constantly asking if I needed a bra. If I wore it no one made fun of me and that made life livable. foolish boy that I was. So I found a band aid that covered my shame and made life livable. I simply wanted to be normal and not ridiculed by my peers. Hell they are relentless when they spot any weakness. fur lined..Texas on a vacation with he and mom. He was often worse than my classmates in cruelty and eventually he came outside making a huge production about the whole issue. But at that time we didn't know about these things. You see growing up I had developed Gynecomastia or male breasts caused by my being overweight and my Cherokee Indian heritage. My salvation. In the early 1980's fishing vests were pretty common attire and I found one that really helped to hide this condition. Who can say? But needless to say every time that yard needed mowing I would inevitably ask for his help cranking it up. Unable to mention to dad any weakness such as this I simply hid it and hoped he would not notice it. Foolish. Wearing it was my cape.or my father. blue parka. I was about twelve or thirteen and we all know how mean children can be about such things. Did I want to mow in a coat? He asked me. But he kept on with his harassment and eventually in the heat of August went inside and produced my winter. So putting on the parka i began to mow in circles with . Helping to lessen the taunts from my schoolmates. We had a large yard with an orchard on the west side and lots of grass to mow front and rear.. One hot summer day I began mowing the lawn in this vest. All I knew for sure was that children were cruel and taunted me mercilessly about it. So growing up in Tatum holds many special memories. It seemed that every summer I would have issues with starting our lawnmower and Jesse was always frustrated that I couldn't start that damn mower. Of course there was the bitter with the sweet but who cares? If life were all sunshine we would never appreciate it at all. Maybe subconsciously I just wanted him to spend time with me.
It was a tool for us that we used often as any rancher will do. around and around they went. Robert Redford in "The horse whisperer" he was not. I wished the pony well. And his opponent. But Jesse wasn't the only Tatum small time farmer wannabe who had animal issues. I can not remember any time that he was gentle. Stop it now! Of course it was seldom she bucked him but this was the last straw. Forcing things was commonplace with him. instead of attempting to communicate with him which would have been futile. Afterward he Phoned Jesse and asked him to come over and help him butcher them. I had often dreamed of running away from home. One battle won. Eventually this degenerated into a fistfight between a pony and my father. Picked it up and bodily slammed it to the ground like a WWF wrestler. Finally in a very seldom seen fit of anger my mom ran out and yelled at him to stop it. I prayed. Time after time they escaped and Joe and his wife Nelda grappled with putting them back in that pen. Many to go. Joe decided to pull a Jesse Inman and grabbed his old 30/30 deer rifle and blasted those hogs to hell. as I could plainly see where this was going. He punched that pony till it was senseless and confused. I felt sorry for the pony because I suffered many abuses at his hands myself at times. feeling if I stayed silent he would tire of his insanity. One day in a typical fit of rage. Sweating patiently. Jesse had purchased two welsh ponies for us to enjoy and ride but he didn't really know what he was getting into with those animals and cute as they were he found out pretty quick that they were stubborn as hell when they wanted to be. Weighing whatever a tiny pony weighs wearing black horsehair and a halter. Yes.the sweat pouring down and my frustration mounting. I recall wondering to myself if running away would solve anything. The pony would shy away and dad would rush in angrily trying to force it to accept the saddle. I wonder if the irony ever struck them how many times they grew impatient and shot . This confusion turned into a power struggle and knowing dad as I did. Even if he could not. you read the last sentence correctly. I mentioned earlier that we had a corral necessary of course for vaccinations of cattle. In this corner! weighing in at 245 lbs wearing a pair of bluejeans and a denim shirt. I remember Joe Pena had two hogs in a pen. His hogs had Houdini talents like our chickens and obviously didn't like being in their pen. One bright hot summer day he was attempting to saddle one of the ponies for my sister to ride and this pony was having none of it. With bloody nose and a dazed look on it's poor face the pony finally accepted the saddle after putting up a pretty decent fight. I plodded on. One day my mom told me this story and swears to me it was true. dehorning and castration of bulls. So I was allowed to remove the sweat soaked coat and mow in my vest in peace. Not with anything. As usual.
He had ridden with many motorcycle clubs back home in Indiana and was one tough hombre'. Jesse stepped into my room later that day and informed me that I was ungrounded and that some boys had told Bruce that they had done it. The truly ironic thing about all this drama was that a week or so later some boys went over to Bruce's' house and admitted to breaking the windows out of the cars. He had lost one leg in a motorcycle wreck years before and walked with the aid of a prosthetic leg. She had been raised by a man nicknamed Preacher who was a biker from Terre Haute. I was completely confused and didn't know what the hell he was talking about. I had a great time down there among the old wrecks. This man had ridden with the Diablos and Chosen few and I respected him a great deal. If I had not been there to see it I would call myself a liar to this very day. To this very day if I am accused of something I am innocent of I tend to become violently defensive. But as we grew into young men. But this particular summer I had spent some time down there playing in the cars and one night Jesse came to my room with ten green switches cut in his hand and asked me why I had broken all the windows out of the cars on Uncle Bruce's lot. He went through nine of those switches before I admitted to doing something I had not done. Jesse's best friend had a lot of antique wrecked cars on the back of his property that he allowed me to play in all the time. As a boy I often escaped into my imagination dreaming of flying a star ship in outer space or imagining what my real dad must be like after I had learned that Jesse was not the man who fathered me. So life was good and bad and that's just life. I would rather not catch them. My "Uncle Bruce" as we called Bruce Haygood. It was always nice to escape to anywhere where the pressures of living with Jesse could be avoided for awhile. I met him and he gave me my first tattoo at eighteen years old. But truly some things you just can't make up. I always thought I was kind of a wimp but I tell you what.some poor dumb animal. than make them admit to something they did not do. Some . He was the toughest man I ever knew to say the least. For that reason I have always tried to err on the side of caution with my children regarding such things. He never even said he was sorry. But I could see that this was gonna be one long night for me when he told me. Steve Williams who was my constant best friend had developed a relationship with a young lady named Cindy Brown who would later become his wife. That was the one time that Nanny got on to him for his violence and I saw him actually cry after beating me. Indiana. I'm gonna beat you with every last one of these switches till you tell me you broke those windows. I knew that I was innocent. So we began to hang out together and I will tell you now a true story that will shock and amaze you.
We laughed and howled in glee. Any of these activities could land you in jail or at least in trouble with the local small town Law enforcement. Preacher and Steven were there. Two liquor stores.things you simply see and you pass them on in story form and hope that you can make it believable. So he pulls out his penis and starts to piss right in the boys face and all over every part of the inside of that car. I'm unsure of the caliber but it appeared to be a little . Or attend a Friday night football game. Well Preacher got involved and before we know what is happening he has limped up to the car on his prosthetic leg and gets right up to the car window talking bad to the kid and the kid is yelling at him that he will kill him. Well the Easton police saw us load it on the roof of my moms car and drive away. This particular incident was the wildest thing I have ever personally seen. So to say that our parents would be mortified to find out we hung out there at all well that would be an understatement. Words were exchanged between us and this little guy pulls out a pistol. Well old Preacher had seen anger. We actually outran them with a ten foot high pole on the roof with all of us hanging on to it out the windows with one hand. Tatum was one wild town in those days and in days previously there was an outlaw aspect about it and we had only five or six recreational activities that we could or would participate in on a typical weekend. A puny little automatic.32 or something. Of epic proportions. Easton was an old black community that had a pool hall/ cafe. So was Bud Williams and I. With hot fresh urine dripping down his face the boy drove away crimson with impotent rage trembling all over. We could drink alcohol.. We were drinking beer and hanging out at old Bud Williams place one night around a campfire. One time some friends and I stole the Easton city limits sign and it was still attached to its pole. And that was the end of that argument. Many marijuana dealers and some who even sold cocaine.. There were a few more guys standing around I can't remember who all was there and we were all just shooting the breeze and enjoying the night. Texas where we bought most of our beer and whiskey to drink before the game on a Friday night. Toilet paper someones yard. fear and every other emotion in a mans eyes and he knew that kid just didn't have it in him. Drive recklessly and fast. .. The local Constable was Jack Jennings. (usually while drinking alcohol). Get in a fistfight. Have sex with some young lady who was willing. An older Camaro rolled up and a young Hispanic boy about seventeen was driving it. We would drive over the county line and across the Sabine river and into Easton. The local police force consisted of an officer named Gary and some other guys who came and went. An old crook from way back who owned a liquor store in nearby Easton..
I wonder if those guys remember us. Harvested our gardens crops and had some down time. I remember Tug bell was there and so was Jose' Sanchez.. Hell we were too drunk to stand or drive normal. Halfway through my meal. The day I was given the sex talk by Jesse was perhaps one of the funniest things he ever did. But as usual we were up and down the strip calling out to girls and drinking cheap beer. how could we fight? But as we struggled to our feet and walked away I will never forget Jose yelling back at the Carthage guys. undoubtedly remember our time together. Smelled great. But in his defense that goat was damned good.. We ate at the local Mcdonalds and cruised the strip. Steven Williams and I were there as well. I will admit however embarrassing it might be that we had been having sex on the church bus. Pretty funny guy.. It was summer break and we had baled all the hay. By her mother in the girls bedroom and in a choir practice room in our church. Texas one night and none of us should have been humanly able to drive that night. women and macho posturing. When we arrived we found dad and Uncle Bruce barbecuing in the backyard. Dad asked me how my goat tasted. In my typical teenage oblivion I never thought to wonder where he had gone but Mom received a phone call and told us to get ready we were going to eat supper with Uncle Bruce and Aunt Lena Haygood. I had been having sex for some time with a young lady who shall remain nameless. I don't really think they wanted to catch us that night. But we were wild and free seeking out our selves in wine. My goat? Yeah that was my dad.. We had sex in the high school rafters in the gym..Laughing all the way home. Several of us guys drove to Carthage. We were gone all day and when we returned found that my goat had gotten his foreleg tangled in his tether badly and Jesse ended up leaving with my goat for a long time. Hell we . Well we all sat down and made a plate and began to dig in. Texas to Six Flags and we had a great time. And yes. I remember freezing up and looking at him.” We would have kicked your asses if you hadn't of beat us up!” He shouted. I am not certain of how we ever did it. It was widely known that she and I had been caught having sex under the bleachers at football games. At that time we had two pet goats. Although anyone from Tatum reading this from that time period will. So one day Jesse took us all to Arlington. Tug slapped Jose in the back of the head and admonished him to “ Shut up Jose”. As all young men will do when freed from the confines of our parents watchful gaze. Before we knew it we had gotten into it with some Carthage tough guys and they whipped our asses pretty good. But now that I am a parent I can relate to his awkwardness in telling me about this most important part of a teens life. the school bus.
When in the corner of my peripheral vision I beheld my stepfather striding towards me hoe in hand. I looked at dad in alarm.had been having sex in every conceivable way in every location we could steal a moment just as all teenagers are prone to do.” With that he strode away. The day was sweltering hot and I had my head bent to the task at hand. I continued in my labors wondering just what in the heck he was up too. “ Jump boy. But on this day I was hoeing in our vegetable garden. Finally after a few minutes he spoke to me. Back ramrod straight. But that day he strode up too me and began to use the hoe a row or two away keeping pace with me and sweating in the sun. Setting the large posts in the mud deep in the pond. What the hell? I remember thinking. of course. With a strange look on his face I will never forget. “When you are having sex and you put it in you have to move it around and think about her pleasure some. That was reserved for mother and I. Plowing.” Incredulously I stopped working. Later he framed it in with two by six lumber and had it all joined together finally in a large T shape. I looked back at my dad as the entire pier collapsed into the twelve or . It looked to me to be very well built but sometimes appearances can be deceiving. The water there was quite deep right there against the bank of our dam. So one day in the summer. Quietly. We began nailing boards to the frame. We never discussed sex again after that. He was kneeling there and waiting for me and I headed up to the dam and the box of nails we had there. ask around. He stopped hoeing and stared right back at me.” I stared at him like he was from Pluto or something.” Well. dad decided we needed to build a pier at our largest pond to fish from. He calmly looked back at me and said. He did most of the dangerous parts himself.” So I did. We were all the way out at the end of the right hand of the T. They are quite adept at it. Staring a moment longer he announced. cutting hay. I continued hoeing the garden wondering just what in the hell had happened. “ You know what I mean son” he continued. Mulling over the unusual subject matter I spoke my mind. building a walkway out over the water so that we could stand on it and fish. Suddenly the whole structure shifted and groaned. He never used a lowly hoe. It was a very short hop for me back to land. when you are with a woman you can't just stick it in.” Riding high on his orange Kubota tractor. hoe in hand.”Phillip. That was our department.” He answered me. “Sir?” I asked him. “Well dad shouldn't you at least eat her pussy or something first to get her ready” Startled and amazed that I knew so much already. Never on the ground doing menial labor in the garden. He was always referred to by us as “massa Jesse. I remember dad telling me to run back up to the dam and hand him some nails to refill his nail pouch.” Well if you ever need a condom or anything else don't be afraid to ask me.
With a twinkle in his eye he would tell me about girls and teach me karate' all in the same afternoon. So he asked Jesse if I could come up to the barn where he was working on tearing it down. James had encountered a particularly tough piece of flooring and asked me to help him pry it up. That time it stood with no problems but it was fun. We ran like track stars. The bumblebees stared at us. We worked together on a lot of jobs. With a loud screech the old rusty nails gave way and the sheet flew up. He was an adventurous young man and a devil with the young ladies. There nestled in between the joists was a humongous beehive of bumblebees. Dad made it swimming back to shore cussing the whole way and dripping wet. some of the adventures we went through.thirteen foot deep end of our fishing hole. Finally getting it up enough to place our fingers underneath we gripped it and heaved as one. I had no idea what to do. My cousin James spent many summers with us and I looked to him like the big brother that I never had. I know I must have gotten on his nerves at times. Our barn was about a hundred yards behind the house on a gentle hill. I will never forget what happened next. We froze. For a teenage boy it was like hanging out with James Dean or Fonzie. But he was always very patient with me. We ran like we were at the running of the bulls in Spain. he didn't have to say it twice. as stubborn as he was the very next day we began construction on that pier again.” “Run!” he screamed at me. We didn't stop or look back and it was a good thing. Jesse had purchased a burned down mobile home one summer and James tore down most of it himself while I went about doing my hoeing in the garden. We both put crowbars under the sheet of particle board and pried with all our strength. Well needless to say. I ran. The bumblebees were right on our asses and they were pissed as hell. “ Run. But he needed my help one day. Both of us seeing something I have never seen before that or since. Casting a glance at James I saw the fear on his face. We covered that hundred yards and slammed into our back door panting. not if I live to be ninety years old. So we ran. Looking back on those years brings me so much joy. We stared at them. He lost his hammer and was pretty mad. There were literally thousands of them. It felt like an eternity but finally he screamed at me and galvanized us both into action. We probably could have gotten a ticket if a cop had been there with a radar gun. Hauling hay and working in the garden. We could hear the swarm thumping against the back door of our house. Now I have never been a runner but that day. . cousin. Hell. The nest was easily three feet long and sixteen inches wide between the joists. I just wish that we were still close to one another. We walked up there that day with crowbars and began tearing up the flooring. After working on tearing down the walls he needed my help ripping up the flooring.
Till next time. But we got the story out. Mom and dad came into the room asking what had happened to us. We had a lot of fun growing up out there in Tatum and that my friends is what life is meant to be all about.Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Lying there on the carpet of our living room hyperventilating. I will stop for now. Dad told us to take the day off. We could barely talk. Who can say? There may just be a second installment to this about my life as I grew into a young man. He ended up going to the barn later that day and killing them all with diesel fuel I think. we laughed our asses off wildly. 3 rd . 2010 June. Inman Sr. Phil G. Thank God! Those things were mean and they meant business.
This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?