We all know what slush is, and god knows there's going to be a lot of it out there in the very near future. It's supposed to warm up to just above freezing, daytime temperatures starting tomorrow, so all that knee deep snow will start to melt. Then we get black ice (snow melt water that freezes into slick ice at sunset), and everybody who is driving professionally would almost be money ahead to park it for a week, rather than risk higher insurance premiums.
In publishing, slush refers unsolicited queries. I'm not sure if it's the whole query, or if it's just the sample of the work the author is hoping they'll publish. I do know that reading slush is considered drudgery by the people in the business.
An agent turned author had a contest of sorts on his blog. Post a first paragraph on the blog in the comments and it's entered. The winner basically gets an agent. No, I did not win, nor did I make it into the finals. BUT, I did enter. A step forward. Next time, I'll do better.
Which brings me to what I'm really thinking. First paragraphs......
The last time I seriously thought about writing a paragraph (that I remember) was when Kennedy was either running for, or had just become, president. A long time ago, to be sure. After that, instructors assume you have already learned basic English, and don't present it again. And why would you care anyway, if you can speak, you can write. This makes sense and works fine until someone expects you to do a good job on something longer.
Which is where we come to that first paragraph, and that "slush pile" on a literary agents desk. 100's, or 1000's of submissions (they call them queries), and if that agent is late for his kids little league game, he might not care how good the top query on that pile is.
My reaction to this is to get myself a big collection of first paragraphs. I can't keep them on the internet because I don't want somebody chasing me around over copy rite issues, but I can keep them in a file on a disk, and study them. I'm not scanning them, I'm typing them in, so book by book, I'm seeing what finally made it into print. AND the comments of that agent who got to judge the finalists of that contest begin to make a lot more sense.
Why didn't my 4th grade teacher tell me about this stuff? I seriously doubt she had a clue. She'd just gotten her Mrs. degree, was only minimally interested in teaching, and was just like a lot of the other morons teaching in the public schools in my home town back then. She was putting in her time, and putting her husband through grad school (another big 10 town), and wanted a nice neat little formula she could use in class. She had NO CLUE what a paragraph was really used for, and didn't care. I'm sure she's a grandmother today, and I'll bet her ears still touch. Oh well..............
Back to transcribing those first paragraphs.....
Friday, February 11, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
What's funny anyhow?
Back in the day, I used to sit in front of the awning at the Essen Haus if there was nothing else better to do. One night I'm sitting there, and Mike and Neil drag this struggling guy out and toss him on the pavement. Back in they go. Mike's the door man, and Neil 's the bouncer.
The guy comes up to me and asks me if I'll give him a ride to Langdon st. I say ok. He gets in, and we're off.
Almost immediately he's telling me what happened. One of the things you learn is you don't have to ask, usually they'll tell you what happened. If they're ashamed of what happened they won't tell you, and it doesn't matter if you ask or not.
He tells me he went there with his room mate. That's pretty common. They were drinking a pitcher of beer, sitting at the bar. Also pretty common. It's a week night, and on week nights they don't have that UUUoom Paaaahh polka band going. If you go there, it's to dine or more likely to drink. German beer on tap, and the best freshly made warm soft pretzels you could ask for to munch on while you drink.
He gets up and tells his room mate he's going to the bathroom to relieve himself. We all know you don't buy beer, you rent it.
He comes back and his room mate is cracking up. He asks the guy what's so funny. The room mate just snickers on trying hard to control the giggles and breaking into fits of laughing his ass off. Just what the hell is so funny?
So he takes a sip of beer and asks again. The room mate goes bonkers, laughing his ass off.
Finally after much pressing, the room mate confides that what's so funny is he pissed in the guys beer. It was only 3/4 full, so he unzipped his pants, slipped the stein down under the bar and topped it up.
What would you do? Almost anybody I've ever met would be ready to kill the guy. He acted just how you'd expect.
Neil doesn't wait for explanations, he breaks up fights and tosses people out. So the poor victim got tossed out, and was sitting in my cab telling me the story.
Now comes the punch line, sort of ....................... The guy tells me that the ultimate insult, what he's really really really pissed off about, is that his room mate is still inside the bar drinking. They didn't boot him out, so he can't kick the guys ass!
You've got to wonder what happened when the guy who didn't get kicked out finally got home.
The guy comes up to me and asks me if I'll give him a ride to Langdon st. I say ok. He gets in, and we're off.
Almost immediately he's telling me what happened. One of the things you learn is you don't have to ask, usually they'll tell you what happened. If they're ashamed of what happened they won't tell you, and it doesn't matter if you ask or not.
He tells me he went there with his room mate. That's pretty common. They were drinking a pitcher of beer, sitting at the bar. Also pretty common. It's a week night, and on week nights they don't have that UUUoom Paaaahh polka band going. If you go there, it's to dine or more likely to drink. German beer on tap, and the best freshly made warm soft pretzels you could ask for to munch on while you drink.
He gets up and tells his room mate he's going to the bathroom to relieve himself. We all know you don't buy beer, you rent it.
He comes back and his room mate is cracking up. He asks the guy what's so funny. The room mate just snickers on trying hard to control the giggles and breaking into fits of laughing his ass off. Just what the hell is so funny?
So he takes a sip of beer and asks again. The room mate goes bonkers, laughing his ass off.
Finally after much pressing, the room mate confides that what's so funny is he pissed in the guys beer. It was only 3/4 full, so he unzipped his pants, slipped the stein down under the bar and topped it up.
What would you do? Almost anybody I've ever met would be ready to kill the guy. He acted just how you'd expect.
Neil doesn't wait for explanations, he breaks up fights and tosses people out. So the poor victim got tossed out, and was sitting in my cab telling me the story.
Now comes the punch line, sort of ....................... The guy tells me that the ultimate insult, what he's really really really pissed off about, is that his room mate is still inside the bar drinking. They didn't boot him out, so he can't kick the guys ass!
You've got to wonder what happened when the guy who didn't get kicked out finally got home.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Evolution
This blog started out as a collection of cab stories. I'd read Hack and said to myself, I've got so many more stories, and better stories.............
I told myself that when I started actually writing the book, I'd go back through the posts, and one by one take them down, as they went into the pages of the book. Otherwise, I wasn't going to go back and read my own writing. Lately, I did a little reading of my own writing, and it's evolved. I now see why people don't write in certain ways. You don't say, "Ah, yeah................ Ah, am, er.... and so forth", before you begin to speak like you would if you were actually speaking. Readers won't tolerate it. They just put the book down, or click into the next website, or what ever they do. When I started this blog, I put that stuff in on purpose because it's how I'd actually tell the story if you were in my cab listening. I, the reader would put the book down too.
Perhaps my writing has improved.
There are a few reasons for reading those old posts. How many of you keep a diary? Do you ever read that diary? How much value is there in reading your own diary?
I came across a letter that I'd written to my daughter. I've written dozens of letters to my daughter, and only ever mailed 2 perhaps. Last time I saw her, she was 5. All the stuff I'd write to her is on real paper, so to get it here I'd have to transcribe it. Last time I talked to her, she told me I'd have to do some really off the wall things if I ever wanted to talk to her again. Some time later, my mother told me she'd had second thoughts, but what she'd said to me was sufficiently off the wall that I said to myself, I should be afraid of somebody with that much hate in them.
How did I come to be talking to her? I had hunted her up on the internet, I sent an email to someone who was probably her. Bingo, it was her. I'd sent an email to one, Lisa Sherrill Schumaker of the Tuscon, Arizona area, employee of the State of Arizona. Over the years, she'd kept in contact with grandma, and my sister, but not me. I was this monster or something, and everyone was to hide her from me. Something she probably never realized was how off the wall my relationship with my mother was. Her total image of me was the one painted by my mother, her mother, and her mother's family. Great portrait.
Back in the early '70's her mother figured out that it was much more profitable to not have a husband. She had a live in boyfriend who paid 1/2 her rent, and a female room mate who paid 1/2 the rent on the house, and she went to my mother and grand parents frequently with her hand out asking for more money to tide her over until next months child support check came. I'm sure she never hit on her own family. In spite of the fact that her father was a salaried consultant to a major automaker, and a tenured professor at the University of Michigan, and a staff officer in the US Air Force, he never had any money. Just like her. She asked my dad once, and he asked what she was willing to give him for it. For ever more, she'd claim that my dad had propositioned her.
So do you ever read your own diary? Huh?
I told myself that when I started actually writing the book, I'd go back through the posts, and one by one take them down, as they went into the pages of the book. Otherwise, I wasn't going to go back and read my own writing. Lately, I did a little reading of my own writing, and it's evolved. I now see why people don't write in certain ways. You don't say, "Ah, yeah................ Ah, am, er.... and so forth", before you begin to speak like you would if you were actually speaking. Readers won't tolerate it. They just put the book down, or click into the next website, or what ever they do. When I started this blog, I put that stuff in on purpose because it's how I'd actually tell the story if you were in my cab listening. I, the reader would put the book down too.
Perhaps my writing has improved.
There are a few reasons for reading those old posts. How many of you keep a diary? Do you ever read that diary? How much value is there in reading your own diary?
I came across a letter that I'd written to my daughter. I've written dozens of letters to my daughter, and only ever mailed 2 perhaps. Last time I saw her, she was 5. All the stuff I'd write to her is on real paper, so to get it here I'd have to transcribe it. Last time I talked to her, she told me I'd have to do some really off the wall things if I ever wanted to talk to her again. Some time later, my mother told me she'd had second thoughts, but what she'd said to me was sufficiently off the wall that I said to myself, I should be afraid of somebody with that much hate in them.
How did I come to be talking to her? I had hunted her up on the internet, I sent an email to someone who was probably her. Bingo, it was her. I'd sent an email to one, Lisa Sherrill Schumaker of the Tuscon, Arizona area, employee of the State of Arizona. Over the years, she'd kept in contact with grandma, and my sister, but not me. I was this monster or something, and everyone was to hide her from me. Something she probably never realized was how off the wall my relationship with my mother was. Her total image of me was the one painted by my mother, her mother, and her mother's family. Great portrait.
Back in the early '70's her mother figured out that it was much more profitable to not have a husband. She had a live in boyfriend who paid 1/2 her rent, and a female room mate who paid 1/2 the rent on the house, and she went to my mother and grand parents frequently with her hand out asking for more money to tide her over until next months child support check came. I'm sure she never hit on her own family. In spite of the fact that her father was a salaried consultant to a major automaker, and a tenured professor at the University of Michigan, and a staff officer in the US Air Force, he never had any money. Just like her. She asked my dad once, and he asked what she was willing to give him for it. For ever more, she'd claim that my dad had propositioned her.
So do you ever read your own diary? Huh?
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
A dangerous Ground Hog Day
I've seen cold, and I've seen snow, but..............
Last night was the first time I've ever laid in bed and said to myself, if the electricity goes out, I'm in a lot of trouble. I thought of the flashlight, and said to myself, "The truck will start, and the tank is full." The last time I really remember something like this was when I moved here in January of 1979. I lived in a huge old converted frat house on Lake Mendota, south shore. I can remember watching those waves of snow sweeping up against the house off the lake. It wasn't scary then. It never occurred to me that the heat or electric could fail. Where I'm at as I write, the heat is electric, so if the electric failed, well, the dog and I would be in a lot of trouble.
The national news, (NATIONAL, not local, NATIONAL), mentioned 7 cars out on an Illinois interstate highway, about an hour from here, stranded for over 12 hours. They say a snowmobile club is trying to rescue those people from their cars. Before I moved here, I'd seen blizzards before, but they were pretty warm compared to here. Heavy wet snow. This snow is really cold, and blows good. Snow that blows good, creates drifts, and it doesn't take a drift over the top of your house to put you in a lot of trouble. A drift across the highway that's 12" deep is enough to trap the car in front of you, then your, then....... A truck sliding off the highway can drop an electric pole that will kill the power for 1,000's of people. And, as if it wasn't bad enough, they say that tonight the low will be around -10, which is around -23 centigrade.
The news people have been making a big deal out of the 'thunder' snow. I heard the thunder last night, and it didn't worry me that much, but perhaps it should have. Another way to wipe out an electric pole and kill 1000's of peoples power is a lightning strike on a power pole. Where there's thunder, there's lightning.
They say that in Indiana the electricity is out in places and they don't expect to restore it for days. They also say there is an inch of ice on some highways. I've been through Indiana in a truck during a storm like that, it requires very careful driving. The biggest problem in a storm like that is you can't get off the highway. Imagine pulling down the exit ramp and the only place you can go is back up the on ramp. And the on ramp looks kind of sketchy, but you can't park in the middle of the highway, so back up onto the interstate you go. Indiana is a lot warmer than here, so they'll get warm air and rain that will burn it off.
In Egypt there are riots with soldiers trying hard to not kill people. The news just announced a molotov being thrown from the roof of a building into a crowd of people. The result of the unrest in Egypt is a 10% overnight increase in the price of gasoline. So in this neck of the woods, gas is around $3.20/gal, and diesel is around $3.40. That means that driving a truck around is getting pretty expensive, figure a dollar a mile for where ever you're going, round trip. Wow, a trip to Seattle, just for fuel, is around $2,000.............. Wow............
Oh, yeah, the ground hog. Since he's under snow, he's unlikely to see a shadow. So, why should he be scared of it, and go back inside. If I was the ground hog, I'd be digging a tunnel through the snow looking for some frozen greenery to eat. So, I'm guessing, the ground hog prediction will be early spring.
Last night was the first time I've ever laid in bed and said to myself, if the electricity goes out, I'm in a lot of trouble. I thought of the flashlight, and said to myself, "The truck will start, and the tank is full." The last time I really remember something like this was when I moved here in January of 1979. I lived in a huge old converted frat house on Lake Mendota, south shore. I can remember watching those waves of snow sweeping up against the house off the lake. It wasn't scary then. It never occurred to me that the heat or electric could fail. Where I'm at as I write, the heat is electric, so if the electric failed, well, the dog and I would be in a lot of trouble.
The national news, (NATIONAL, not local, NATIONAL), mentioned 7 cars out on an Illinois interstate highway, about an hour from here, stranded for over 12 hours. They say a snowmobile club is trying to rescue those people from their cars. Before I moved here, I'd seen blizzards before, but they were pretty warm compared to here. Heavy wet snow. This snow is really cold, and blows good. Snow that blows good, creates drifts, and it doesn't take a drift over the top of your house to put you in a lot of trouble. A drift across the highway that's 12" deep is enough to trap the car in front of you, then your, then....... A truck sliding off the highway can drop an electric pole that will kill the power for 1,000's of people. And, as if it wasn't bad enough, they say that tonight the low will be around -10, which is around -23 centigrade.
The news people have been making a big deal out of the 'thunder' snow. I heard the thunder last night, and it didn't worry me that much, but perhaps it should have. Another way to wipe out an electric pole and kill 1000's of peoples power is a lightning strike on a power pole. Where there's thunder, there's lightning.
They say that in Indiana the electricity is out in places and they don't expect to restore it for days. They also say there is an inch of ice on some highways. I've been through Indiana in a truck during a storm like that, it requires very careful driving. The biggest problem in a storm like that is you can't get off the highway. Imagine pulling down the exit ramp and the only place you can go is back up the on ramp. And the on ramp looks kind of sketchy, but you can't park in the middle of the highway, so back up onto the interstate you go. Indiana is a lot warmer than here, so they'll get warm air and rain that will burn it off.
In Egypt there are riots with soldiers trying hard to not kill people. The news just announced a molotov being thrown from the roof of a building into a crowd of people. The result of the unrest in Egypt is a 10% overnight increase in the price of gasoline. So in this neck of the woods, gas is around $3.20/gal, and diesel is around $3.40. That means that driving a truck around is getting pretty expensive, figure a dollar a mile for where ever you're going, round trip. Wow, a trip to Seattle, just for fuel, is around $2,000.............. Wow............
Oh, yeah, the ground hog. Since he's under snow, he's unlikely to see a shadow. So, why should he be scared of it, and go back inside. If I was the ground hog, I'd be digging a tunnel through the snow looking for some frozen greenery to eat. So, I'm guessing, the ground hog prediction will be early spring.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
One of my first lessons
That first fall, back in 1988, I drove Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. I started as early as I got it together to show up, and I had to park it at 10 am.
There was a regular ride that went out of De Forest at around 5 am. They'd read it off, and take bids like normal, then say, the same guy was up, every day.
I tried hanging in the north, I tried hanging by the end of the airport runway. Not even close. What was going on?
They'd lied to me when they hired me, and when I was trained. They told me that sitting on time calls wasn't allowed. Sitting on a time call, what's that? Joe Blow has a regular ride at so and so a time, and it's a big money ride. So, you go and wait for it. 1/2 hour, 45 minutes, what ever it takes, as long as it's worth it. It's done in all cab environments, dispatching or no dispatching.
It was my first serious exposure to the lying and cheating that is the norm in the business. Eventually, I was there when Mader showed up one morning. Nobody was happy about it. But it stopped being his personal shift starter. 3 days a week, it became my shift starter, most of the time. How early did I have to go there? About an hour early. Coffee and the Wall Street Journal became the start of 3 shifts a week.
There was a regular ride that went out of De Forest at around 5 am. They'd read it off, and take bids like normal, then say, the same guy was up, every day.
I tried hanging in the north, I tried hanging by the end of the airport runway. Not even close. What was going on?
They'd lied to me when they hired me, and when I was trained. They told me that sitting on time calls wasn't allowed. Sitting on a time call, what's that? Joe Blow has a regular ride at so and so a time, and it's a big money ride. So, you go and wait for it. 1/2 hour, 45 minutes, what ever it takes, as long as it's worth it. It's done in all cab environments, dispatching or no dispatching.
It was my first serious exposure to the lying and cheating that is the norm in the business. Eventually, I was there when Mader showed up one morning. Nobody was happy about it. But it stopped being his personal shift starter. 3 days a week, it became my shift starter, most of the time. How early did I have to go there? About an hour early. Coffee and the Wall Street Journal became the start of 3 shifts a week.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
parlay card
When I started driving, I saw something I'd never seen before. Parlay cards. Perhaps I'd led a sheltered life.
They had them in the office. I don't recall any drivers being interested in them, only the dispatchers and non management office people. I don't recall when they faded out of the picture, it was many years ago.
I mentioned them to a friend, and he smiled broadly. Then came the story of a 7 team parlay he almost made, 6 of his teams won. He'd prefaced his comments by saying he'd never been interested in gambling. I guess it's not gambling when it's a couple of bucks, kind of like a state lottery ticket.
Only, I know a plain working stiff who buy's at least $60/weeks worth of scratch off tickets. Sometimes more. Sure he wins a few, but I'm sure he has a net loss of $2,000/year, minimum. That's actually a lot of money. At least as much as the sales tax he pays.
What I wonder is, which one of them was running the parlay cards? And, when he finally couldn't pay for it, what happened to the guy who screwed the whole deal up? And, did the parlay cards simply move over to the bar (that goes un named) where they all play pool tournaments a couple of evenings a week.
Hmmmm, would that fellow allow them to be run out of his bar.............. I'm pretty sure I know how he'd handle it, he'd tell the first person he saw selling them, it was the last time he was going to see one, or the last time he'd see that guy, which ever came first. He'd accept that they were being passed there, but passed not seen.
They had them in the office. I don't recall any drivers being interested in them, only the dispatchers and non management office people. I don't recall when they faded out of the picture, it was many years ago.
I mentioned them to a friend, and he smiled broadly. Then came the story of a 7 team parlay he almost made, 6 of his teams won. He'd prefaced his comments by saying he'd never been interested in gambling. I guess it's not gambling when it's a couple of bucks, kind of like a state lottery ticket.
Only, I know a plain working stiff who buy's at least $60/weeks worth of scratch off tickets. Sometimes more. Sure he wins a few, but I'm sure he has a net loss of $2,000/year, minimum. That's actually a lot of money. At least as much as the sales tax he pays.
What I wonder is, which one of them was running the parlay cards? And, when he finally couldn't pay for it, what happened to the guy who screwed the whole deal up? And, did the parlay cards simply move over to the bar (that goes un named) where they all play pool tournaments a couple of evenings a week.
Hmmmm, would that fellow allow them to be run out of his bar.............. I'm pretty sure I know how he'd handle it, he'd tell the first person he saw selling them, it was the last time he was going to see one, or the last time he'd see that guy, which ever came first. He'd accept that they were being passed there, but passed not seen.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Fear and cowardice
Fast Eddie has said that if he was going to get in a bar fight and he was only allowed to bring one friend, he'd want to bring me. It's a joke, of course.
A well trained cop can tell you that some people appear very calm when they're terrified. Most people act normal, and appear terrified. I think this quality of appearing calm is a liability. Most people think you're not afraid, and when it's men, often what's going through their mind is, "Well who do you think you are? Billy Bad-ass?" Then they posture and act as if you are Billy Bad-ass. They usually don't take a shot at you because they know they're not real good, and that makes them more dangerous. They're standing there looking for a cheap shot to take, a preemptive cheap shot, and if they get the chance, they might panic and actually take it.
How do I know all about this? That should be obvious. In case it's not, allow me to share a traffic accident I was in in Oklahoma a few years back.
My log book was so far behind that bringing it up to legal was hopelessly out of the question. Some how, a white Cadillac had gotten in front of my truck, and I was pushing it down US69 sideways, at 65 mph. When I realized it was there, I took my foot off the accelerator and let everything coast to a stop. As I jumped down off the ladder (cab over), the fellow who'd been driving the car was getting out of the passenger door of his caddie. He was visibly shaking. We asked each other at the same moment if we were all right, and both answered that we were.
Imagine that. A car, semi truck collision, that happens at 65 miles per hour, and not only does nobody get hurt, but both vehicles are drivable. Simply amazing! I knew I was going to jail, and when I took my foot off the accelerator, I looked at the dog and told him I was going to jail and he was going to the pound.
When the cops and the TV cameras arrived, they asked me if I wanted to sit in the back of the squad car. That was when that cop knew he was dealing with one of the strange people who look absolutely calm when everything has gone crazy. I calmly told the cop that I was as upset as I ever get, and asked him if he'd let me sit with my dog in the truck. He said, "Ok."
To the cop and all the other people standing around that accident site, the driver of the truck appeared as if nothing had happened. The cop knew better. The cop knew I was as terrified as the guy who'd been in the car. The TV news people were probably more interested in film of the vehicles. Talking to the guy in the car was normal to them, he was visibly terrified. He'd been sitting in a car with the head lamp of a semi truck on the other side of his drivers window, riding down the highway sideways. He was shaking.
I was up in the cab of that truck in an instant. I knew at that point they weren't going to ask for that hopeless logbook, and I wasn't going to jail. It was an unforgettable moment, if ever I had one.
The truth is, I accepted that I was a coward when I was real young, probably in elementary school, but for sure before I finished junior high. Being a coward shaped every life decision I ever made. And make no mistake, children start making life decisions pretty young. Think about it. When did you make your first life decision.
Am I still a coward? Of course. Being a jock in school when I was a teenager might have given me skills, but I probably would have been even better at figure skating. As an adult, people confuse aquired skill with courage.
A well trained cop can tell you that some people appear very calm when they're terrified. Most people act normal, and appear terrified. I think this quality of appearing calm is a liability. Most people think you're not afraid, and when it's men, often what's going through their mind is, "Well who do you think you are? Billy Bad-ass?" Then they posture and act as if you are Billy Bad-ass. They usually don't take a shot at you because they know they're not real good, and that makes them more dangerous. They're standing there looking for a cheap shot to take, a preemptive cheap shot, and if they get the chance, they might panic and actually take it.
How do I know all about this? That should be obvious. In case it's not, allow me to share a traffic accident I was in in Oklahoma a few years back.
My log book was so far behind that bringing it up to legal was hopelessly out of the question. Some how, a white Cadillac had gotten in front of my truck, and I was pushing it down US69 sideways, at 65 mph. When I realized it was there, I took my foot off the accelerator and let everything coast to a stop. As I jumped down off the ladder (cab over), the fellow who'd been driving the car was getting out of the passenger door of his caddie. He was visibly shaking. We asked each other at the same moment if we were all right, and both answered that we were.
Imagine that. A car, semi truck collision, that happens at 65 miles per hour, and not only does nobody get hurt, but both vehicles are drivable. Simply amazing! I knew I was going to jail, and when I took my foot off the accelerator, I looked at the dog and told him I was going to jail and he was going to the pound.
When the cops and the TV cameras arrived, they asked me if I wanted to sit in the back of the squad car. That was when that cop knew he was dealing with one of the strange people who look absolutely calm when everything has gone crazy. I calmly told the cop that I was as upset as I ever get, and asked him if he'd let me sit with my dog in the truck. He said, "Ok."
To the cop and all the other people standing around that accident site, the driver of the truck appeared as if nothing had happened. The cop knew better. The cop knew I was as terrified as the guy who'd been in the car. The TV news people were probably more interested in film of the vehicles. Talking to the guy in the car was normal to them, he was visibly terrified. He'd been sitting in a car with the head lamp of a semi truck on the other side of his drivers window, riding down the highway sideways. He was shaking.
I was up in the cab of that truck in an instant. I knew at that point they weren't going to ask for that hopeless logbook, and I wasn't going to jail. It was an unforgettable moment, if ever I had one.
The truth is, I accepted that I was a coward when I was real young, probably in elementary school, but for sure before I finished junior high. Being a coward shaped every life decision I ever made. And make no mistake, children start making life decisions pretty young. Think about it. When did you make your first life decision.
Am I still a coward? Of course. Being a jock in school when I was a teenager might have given me skills, but I probably would have been even better at figure skating. As an adult, people confuse aquired skill with courage.
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