Fading Memories

What really got me thinking about writing my stories down was something that happened a long time ago with some friends of mine from Little League baseball. While reminiscing with my Dad about what happened, I was totally shocked when he told me that he didn't remember anything about it. And the more I thought about how he didn't remember what happened, the more I thought that I better start writing things down, because if he didn't remember, and with me being from the same gene pool, no memory of mine is safe. Of course, Jo Ann may disagree, because she says that I remember everything except what's important, and it really isn't a very important thing to remember.  But, I still think my Dad should have remembered it.

With that, I am sure you are dying to know what happened that was so remarkable that I can't believe that my Dad forgot about it. Well, maybe not, but that has never stopped me from telling a story before, so here goes.

In 1979 when I was about 11, I played little league baseball in Griffin, Georgia for Buick Toyota, and my coach was George Jones. No, my coach wasn't the Possum, and as far as I know he couldn't sing, but he did have a pond, and on one Saturday he invited the baseball team to fish there. My Dad was one of his assistant coaches, and it was not uncommon for him to drive some of the boys to practice, games, and this time to go fishing. At this time, my dad was driving a Cheverolet LUV truck (Light Utility Vehicle - the only new car my dad ever bought) with a camper top, and back in the days when you didn't have to wear seatbelts, kids would also ride in the back of the truck. On this trip, my dad brought David Hudgins, Billy Shirah, and me to the pond to fish. We fished there for a few hours and mostly caught small bream (bluegill, sunfish, etc.). By the time we were done, we had a stringer or two full of these fish. So, we got our fishing gear and strings of fish and climbed into the back of the truck and headed home.

With the Georgia Spring heat, we would leave the camper door open and sit at the tailgate to feel the breeze as my dad drove us home. Along the way, two ladies drove up behind us, and Billy started showing them the fish that we had caught. Of course they smiled at us, and then he started pointing at the fish and then at them. We all thought it was funny when they started pointed back at the fish and themselves. We kept egging them on, and pretty soon it become pretty clear that they they wanted our fish and were actually following us. We thought this was so funny and it just encouraged us more, but then my Dad noticed what was going on.

It wasn't too long before he found a parking lot, pulled into it, and stopped. And sure enough the two ladies pulled up right behind us and parked too. My Dad got out of the truck, and the ladies got out of their car grinning. I don't remember what he said to them, but I do remember that he made us give them our fish. My dad was none too happy about the situation, and after they left, he let us know how we shouldn't be teasing people like that. After the scolding, he got back into the truck, and we were on our way again. After we left, we thought the whole thing was as funny as ever. And although I can't be sure, I have a feeling that if we had another string of fish, we probably would have teased whoever else was lucky enough to follow us in my Dad's truck. That is, unless the fish had been bass or catfish or crappy. We probably would have wanted to keep those.

I still can't believe my Dad doesn't remember that story.

First Post

It used to be that I did not talk a lot, but as I have gotten older that has changed. I find myself always telling stories at work, at home, or anywhere someone is willing to listen to me ramble on. Some folks may have thought that I named my blog Rambling Scott because I went to the Georgia Tech, the school of the Ramblin' Wreck, but that just happens to be a coincidence. The real reason is because I am a rambling story teller.  I enjoy relating things of the now with my storied past, although I am not so sure others enjoy them so much.  In fact, my wife Jo Ann frequently lets me know when my stories have become tiresome and repetitive, and I'm waiting for the day that my kids start rolling their eyes at me when I get started. So, I thought that maybe I could get the story telling out of my system if I rambled in writing on this blog, sparing the ears of my friends and family.  Probably not.  In fact, it might even make it worse.