Gang, this story “Mercifully” is not about me, but a really great friend/person named Andy. Andy’s older brother Ken is telling the story to Andy’s Daughter. Andy and Ken spent over a week one summer traveling with a friend in a broken down station wagon through the National Parks of the West. P.S. do not read this story right before or after a large meal. So the story goes like this:
“When we left Wind River the second day, Steve Tarr was driving. Andy was riding shotgun, tending to the 8-track, chewing and spitting tobacco into his Bronco cup. Most guys use something smaller than a Big Gulp when they chew, but not Andy; he wanted to see how much saliva he could produce. Anyway, I was sitting in the middle of the back seat reading a coffee table book about Yellowstone that my sister Cathy gave me the previous Christmas. (Probably, it inspired the trip.) It was a warm day. All the windows were open as we cruised through the Big Horn Valley toward Cody. Leafing through the book, I’d occasionally comment on what we might do or see once we got to the park. At one point, Andy was fussing with the tape deck, so I looked up to give him further instruction in how to work it. With that sense of frustration some younger brothers feel when they’re corrected by an older one, Andrew sat back. Suddenly, a gust of wind caught his baseball cap, blew it back toward me, and as he instinctively grabbed for it with both hands, he also threw the cup of chew spit in his left hand in my direction.
Most of the brown wave landed below my chin, covered my neck and chest, and ricocheted downward onto the book, rendering it useless for all but the most Texican of coffee tables.
Judging by my screams, Tarr concluded that it was probably a good idea to pull over. The instant he stopped, I got out and stripped, choking back my own vomit while peppering your soon-to-be-father with a succession of very bad bowling words. Andy, whose famous “Uncle Buck” looks revealed his sincere regret, made a perfunctory effort to assist in the clean up, even though he didn’t want to touch the stuff either. For years, I took it as proof of his innocence.
But, now, as I write this little memoir, I’m getting signals from the Great Beyond that his actions that day may not have been as artless as I thought. Regardless of his intent, though (or lack thereof), this undoubtedly proved to be my least treasured moment with your father. But it’s exactly the reason I loved him so much.”
Folks, the lessons learned here?... not the least of which is that tobacco products are very dangerous; Forgiveness also comes to mind.
Always remember: Hug your Family and Cherish the Good Times!
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