As the years pass the memories of my youth become more vivid. Minor details jump out at me now. I don't know if this happens because I am moving swiftly toward the later stages of my life and don't want to give up my youth or maybe I can finally see through the fog of many years of depression. Doesn't matter now.

I've been trying to teach Joey Fields the fine art of texting. Not that he can't do it himself, he is a smart dude, smarter than me for sure. We were in my cave last night and he said that he was going to send his first unaided text. Just for practice. He keyed his phone for a minute and hit send then he smiled that smile that says "you should get this one."

"Look man, a Spanish bird."

Not much of a story here, just an event between three stoned friends from twenty nine years ago.

We had been partaking of substances that are frowned upon these days. The morning was in its early life of that particular day and Joey, Billy Shelton and I were in the den of my house in Indian Hills. Safe and comfortable. Billy was curled and sleeping as only Billy could sleep in those days. Joey and I were discussing the cosmos or the gdp of Singapore or something that only Joey and I could discuss. He is the deepest dude ever. He was then and still is. My cosmic brother.

All at once Billy sits straight up, looks to the ceiling, points and says "look man, a Spanish Bird." He then goes back to his blissful slumber. How could anyone ever forget a moment like that? Even twenty nine years later.

Coke or Pepsi?

Growing up in our subdivision in the 70's was very comfortable. Never, ever, except vacation were our doors locked. My parents never gave me a key to the house nor did I ever see them with one. What did we need keys for anyway? I know for a fact that most of our neighbors never locked their doors either. Almost like the taking of the census, we knew who locked and who didn't. There was no crime in Indian Hills. Or was there? Sure there was. Gardens raided for midnight camp out snacks, wood piles raided for those camp outs (hear me Steve Bobic, sorry man) car windows soaped, bicycles borrowed for late night cruises, drink machines jimmied not for the coins but for the content, toilet paper stretched across the road so the drivers would lock their brakes because they couldn't tell that it was just toilet paper, the inevitable papering of some randomly picked yard, the always hilarious burning bag of doggie poop, the ding and dash at four am, man that pissed off more that a few grouchy men. nocturnal knocks on certain female's bedroom windows. Most of those were upstairs so a few tossed gravel usually did the trick.

The one that really bothered me was the actual theft of property. I loved mischief but stealing did not sit well with my soul.

Oneida Court, second house on the right, Jan's next door neighbors were some of the nicest people that God ever graced His world with and they still are to this day. Plus their daughter, the oldest one was super hot, the youngest was just a little one then. She turned out very nicely too and now lives on the other side of her parent's house. David and Wanda Thomas you are the heart of America and I sincerely apologize for stealing the drinks from your carport. I'm sure you blamed the children for sneaking a coke or pepsi but it Jan and me. Sixteen ounce bottles in those old wooden crates.

If you ever want to meet these people, David and Wanda Thomas, Robin Thomas Stackhouse and Margaret Thomas Cloninger you can find them at almost all Sullivan Central football games. Robin lives away but at a game is where I last saw her.

Sorry David. I want to be like you when I grow up.

Jan interuptus

The first time I ever kissed a girl for real was my ninth grade year at BJHS. That is Blountville Junior High School for you youngsters. No middle school then so freshmen were king or queen. It was second semester and I was fifteen, she was fourteen. I remember that kiss so well. She kissed me because I was like a statue in more ways than one. I stood there like a stooge and she waited for what seemed like two hours before she stood on her tip toes and totally changed my perspective on life. I was just freaking because I couldn't believe that this girl, very pretty, very popular and totally out of my league would even talk to me. Clueless is a good word. The band room near study hall and Mrs. Haney's English class, Miss Reanu's room with the short hallway between the main hallway and the bandroom door. The memory makes me dizzy even now. If I described her in any way all of you BJHS people would know her so no...

My life was changed forever that day. Hey, even though I thought that I was gross, some pretty girls like me. This preamble brings me to my next Jan story. Remember the one where he lost IT. Well he plays a huge part in my losing IT too. I wanted to kick his ass, thus Jan Interuptus.

Fast forward to August of that same year. I neglected to say that the year was 1975. What I told you earlier and what I am about to tell you now are the only real memories of that year except that I popped a bunch of zits and I washed my sheets often. I was fifteen, don't judge me.

To be a blue collar kid I was pretty privileged. I already had a car and a very nice motorcycle. A Triumph 500 Trophy Trail. My dad was a bastard whore who doted on me to make up for it. I refuse to make excuses. He bought me anything I wanted. The cost was that I put up with his abuse. I have a story for later about when I put a stop to the ass beating but for now back to the main stage. What can I say?

August 1975. Fall football practice was a week or so away and all I had been doing was worrying about getting my ass kicked on the field. I was running, working out and playing basketball every day. Those guys were coming off the best season in Central history and it still is the best season. Damn, I knew who all the returning guys were. Dickie Bird, Rocky Macaninch, Shannon DePew, Greg Darnell, Bugs Beverly, Marc Wilson. Plus all the competition from Holston and Colonial Heights. Man, I was stressed. I knew about those guys that were my age too. Chuck Stroup, Gabe Bucca, Gary Killebrew. Plus my Blountville brethren. Going to High school and facing that kind of challenge on the field. I wasn't at my most optimistic...until.

Her name was Cheri (pronounced Sherry) Brown from Lilburn, Ga. Mom's friend Judy was visiting that night which was not out of the ordinary. Judy was over at least twice a week. Her husband was a bastard too so Mom and her were kindred spirits. I was out back shooting bball by myself. Sweaty as a whore in church, chewing a big wad of Levi Garrett and totally not prepared for what happened next.

Cheri was fifteen days younger than me and one hundred years advanced in the ways of lust. Mom yells out the door "Allen come in here a minute." "Be right there Mom." I knew that Judy was there but when I walked in to the kitchen with the chew still in my mouth and my tee shirt plastered to my body and I'm sure I had the farts, there she was. "Allen, this is Cheri." "Hi Cheri." "Hi Allen." She didn't know "Porky" and by this time I wasn't. Embarrassed and pissed at Mom for allowing my sweaty appearance to grace this beautiful creature I replied "I'm going to go watch tv." I'm thinking that me and Mom are going to talk about this. Give me some notice, please.

A few minutes later I'm in the den watching Love American Style or Mannix or something and there she is. The chew was gone but I just remember that I had to really stink. Without a word, no preamble, she kissed me. Bye Bye good sense.

"This cannot be happening." For six days it was "I want to have your baby." "I want to be with you forever." My response was always "ok" "sorry about that." "my bad." I'M ONLY FIFTEEN DAMN IT. Please don't leave.

Cheri and I hatched a plan. She was to sleep in her aunt Judy's and uncle Bill's camper with her little cousins and my sister. I was to lay in wait under said camper until all were asleep, which by the way was in the driveway of Aunt Judy and Uncle Bill's house. If I described the location then many of you would know exactly where I am talking about. Have you heard of Greenwood Market? Well, you can see it from there. That is all you get. Dave Kindle Knows.

I needed transport. That is where Jan comes in. "Man, she wants to do it." I'll never forget his response. "It's about time man. She's tough too." Me: "Ok, here is the plan. We take my bike (motorcycle) to the bottom of the hill. I'll walk up and you take the bike and ride around until you see me by the side of the road. It goes without saying that neither of us ever had a license to ride. Bad mistake there. "Probably about 1 am. Ride by every thirty minutes until I get there." Jan: "Cool." I still talk like that. No apologies, I just do.

There I am, lying in the gravel driveway underneath the camper. Little girl voices for two hours. One am. Silence. Finally, my signal from Cheri. Very quietly the door opens, no voices but a hand signal. Time for the unspeakable. I'm a very accomplished sneak. Still to this day I think I would be incredible in the burglary business. She has the "big" room in the small camper. There we are, someplace that I still dream about. Time has no meaning. Well past 2 am, finally, one, two, blue lights. Damn. What the hell. I barely got it wet. Police in the driveway. Fuck, Jan, what did you do? Knock on the camper door. Keith Carr, future high Sheriff of Sullivan County.. "Is Allen Fields in here." "Here I am." "Please step outside." "Is this your motorcycle?" "Yes Sir." "Did you allow this person access to your motorcycle?" "Yes sir." "He doesn't have a license, do you?" "No sir." "Who is in the camper?" "My sister and her friends." "You need to get this bike home without riding it." "Yes sir, we will push it." "Make sure you do." God I loved cops in the seventies.

That August night was kind of chilly, especiaaly riding a motorcycle without a jacket, just a tee shirt and shorts, so Jan had pulled over at the bottom of the hill at Indian Springs School road and Memorial Blvd to warm up. "I was just sittin there man, I was cold, sorry man. Did you get it?" "Yeah man, I got it." "Cool, I'm tired of pushin, let's start this fucker up." "Let's do it but I'm driving." God love him.