It's All About Me

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Nashville, TN, United States
Primordial hardcore PC gamer, Love the FPS genre in video games such as Medal Of Honor and Call Of Duty, Artist, Musician(drummer & guitar), photographer, aquarist, non-sweater of the small stuff and lover of life! There are always weeds between the with it!


Friday, August 28, 2009

My first Blog,EVER!

Just want to get the ball rolling and start my first blog! I guess you have to start somewhere.
I hope in the future to express my thoughts and feelings on several issues that may arise.

But first, things first. A little history about me!

I was born 1960 on Dover Air Force Base in Delaware, during the last year of my Dad's service in the Air Force. So technically I'm a yankee but I consider myself a southern born and southern breed American. 
The son of Scot-Irish father and Italian mother, so as you may guess I was screwed from the beginning!

When I was 2 years old we moved back to my family's ancestral home in the rolling hills and rocky bluffs of East Tennessee. A small town just outside Dayton,TN. the place where the Scopes monkey trial took place. It was a town somewhere between To Kill a Mockingbird and Mayberry!

I was the middle child of seven kids, I had three older brothers and a few years later, three younger sisters.
We lived in a small white farm house with the very basic necessities as far as indoor plumbing and no air conditioning. So yes we used an out house that was about 200 feet from the house and believe me, you did your business very quickly in the dead of winter to get back to that warm house or snuggle back into bed in the middle of the night. I think that's why to this day I don't get up in the night to go to the bathroom! I know, I know…TMI! Anyway…as the old saying goes, “If you never had it, you don’t miss it.”

When I was about 8 years, I remember my dad digging a septic tank in the back yard for the bathroom he added on to the back of the house. The new commode was the most wonderful thing I'd ever seen in my life! Don't get me wrong I'd seen and used a commode before, at school and at friend's homes but to never have to trek across the back yard to a dark little 4'x4' shack again was utter bliss.
For heat in the winter the old house had these beautiful ornate cast iron fireplaces that were set in the wall. The coal truck would deliver a pile of coal to our house every month into the coal bin beside the driveway. I remember shoveling quite a few buckets of coal every other day and carrying them into the house and in turn, taking out many pales of coal ash.

My Dad had a garage/paint and body shop off to the side of our yard. He repaired and restored cars on the weekend for extra money.

It was the forbidden zone. We were not allowed to go inside, in fear of, according to our mother, chop off an arm with a power saw, poke an eye out with a screw driver or burn down the house with a blow torch. The few times I was privileged to enter the inner sanctum was with my dad close beside me. It was a dark place. I can still smell the old grease, gasoline and burnt metal. Car parts were everywhere, rusty mufflers and pipes hanging from the rafters, gaskets of all shapes and sizes arranged on the walls. Old wooden shelves with dozens of glass jars with every shape and size of nut, bolt, washer and cotter pin you could think of.
If my dad saw a screw, nut or bolt lying on the ground. Or on the side of the road, He would pick in up and put it in his pocket. He would always say, “I just might need that someday.” I guess growing up during the depression teaches you to save anything you can and make it useful.
Behind the garage was only what I could describe as a small junkyard. There were about dozen beat up old cars my dad could not fix or used to pull spare parts from.  It was the greatest place in the world for a young boy!
There was an old side panel truck there my friends and I use to play in. To the imagination of a small boy that truck was everything from an spaceship to a submarine to a jet bomber.
My brothers and I slept on the old angle iron, military style bunk beds in one of the bedrooms at the back of the house. On those hot summer nights, we would sleep with the windows open or sneak out to the screened in back porch where my mom did the laundry with an old ringer washer.
All the doors in the house had gem cut glass door knobs. My brothers told me that they were diamonds, one of the many white lies they told me that later in life I would discover were untrue! But that’s what brothers do right; I would pass that same tale on to my younger sister as well.
Growing up in a small rural town back then seems like a different life now, compared to today’s world. We would walk everywhere, to our favorite swimming hole a couple of miles away. The old timers called it “the washer” because years before it was where they would wash they clothes. It was a blue crystal clear steam that came from a waterfall out a small cave in the limestone bluffs. The water was clean and cold as ice!

The great thing about childhood memories is we tend to remember the good times and forget the bad. I guess it's better that way!

Until next time...

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