As so often happens when I start telling stories I get caught up in them and end up rambling on and on so let us pick up where the story left off. Nothing real exciting happened with JD after the race and I totally blame that on the fact he doesn’t have a good enough nickname. It’s a little known fact but in the hillbilly culture nicknames are rites of passage if you must (thanks Billy Ray Cyrus and the History Channel for that factoid) and I knew the perfect man to take along with me on my next road trip, Stubby (aka my Dad).
Stubby picked me up and we headed south towards Dale Hollow Lake where Poncho, Chompers, Little County, A-Town, Steak, and Christmas awaited our arrival. I really wish I could say I made up at least one or some of those nicknames to better this story but that’s simply not a fact. Unfortunately I haven’t had the pleasure to hang out with these guys very often due to my job moving me around the country the last 3 or so years so my nickname doesn’t have the flair or wittiness associated with it; I’m pretty sure they called me Poncho’s Crazy Brother (never to my face though). We did everything any normal family does on a vacation together, played floating flip cup, got lost on the lake, drank Boone’s Farm (I’m sorry liquor I fell off the wagon, but it’s with Boone’s Farm, beer has more alcohol), rocked out to Kid Rock’s “Devil Without a Cause”, made fun of each other on the CB’s, you know just your typical family bonding. I was suppose to stay down south with my brother and head to another lake but after just one and a half days I threw in the towel and came back to civilization, there was one more stop I had to make on my road trip.
Growing up in South Chuck there was always one event that everyone prepared for, talked about, and set their vacation time around, you guessed it, the Fair (actually I’d be shocked if you did guess it, that would be an indication that you do have some hillbilly in you, good luck). I never was in 4H or FFA or brought anything to the Fair (although my peach cobbler definitely would have taken the blue ribbon) however the 4H dance was always off the hook (or chain). Unfortunately for me I missed the 4H dance this year so had to settle on buying a duck instead (well JD bought it but 6 of 1, half-dozen of the other). I was really pumped because JD had totally redeemed himself from his poor effort at the race to get us a couple of spots in the infield for the scramble that night. I hadn’t been to the scramble since my youngest brother partook in the event about 8 years ago (if I was smart enough I’d link the video here, big if). For those of you not familiar with the scramble here’s a rundown: football field size area, mudded down, 18-20 high school boys with helmets, 10 calves, one circle, one halter, one heck of a good time. The object is to catch a calf, halter it, drag it to the circle, then take it home for a year and come back and show it (all in all a pretty decent way to spend a Friday night).
Due to complications beyond our control (mainly a kid being hid in a cooler or something) we didn’t make it to the scramble. However after a reflection/recovery period I realized I had a really good road trip. Sure it was great to get back to my roots but the best part was my mania was basically under control for the entire week. I’m not sure if this is because my mind was always occupied on something else (whether that was Poncho screaming “Who’s got the keys to the 65 footer?” and blowing the air horn or checking out the midway chicks at the Fair) or that I’m starting to learn how to monitor my moods in a way. Whichever the case I know it’s a start in the right direction and that’s exactly what I was looking for.
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!