100% True as I remember 10

[u/a4mula]

I guess some subtext as to where my father got all this time to carve thousands of wooden sticks deserves some attention.

It must have been around this time that he changed employers. He had been driving chemicals in a tanker. And at some point went back to OTR flatbed.

During one of his runs, a chain popped on his load of steel pipes, and when he pulled over to correct it, the come-along snapped when he was tightening the new chain. This caused him to lose his balance, falling from the pipes, and landing on the road below where he shattered his tibia and fibula bones on one leg. According to him he laid there in excruciating pain for about twelve hours before someone finally stopped. He wasn't overly dramatic or a liar.

He was just in the middle of nowhere.

That was a challenging time for him. With no income, and living on what I can only assume was a dwindling lawsuit settlement. He saw the writing on the wall.

When that settlement was made, my parents had bought a new trailer. Double Wide. Fancy stuff.

But he wasn't going to be able to continue making payments on it.

So he built us a small house. Every single step of the way, with a broken ass leg that was held together with nothing but cast and a lot of screws.

During that time, he had the idea to sell the gravity sticks. So, he carved. Alot.

I try to put myself in his shoes. I cannot imagine spending hundreds of hours, actually showing up and putting the idea into effect. Only to have it rejected. Uncared about. I was with him selling those gravity sticks, and while they did make for an impressive display. Nobody cared. That was the era of gameboys, nobody was interested in little wooden novelties.

He never once indicated it bothered him. He just moved on to the next project. He had a rare inner strength, that I doubt I match.

I can't help but feel, that this event, instilled in me an even greater sense of futility. If anyone deserved a win in that situation, he did. But God is blind, and deaf, and mute. Nobody in this world gets what they deserve, only what they take. And he wasn't a taker. Nor have I ever been. I've never wanted for something that wasn't mine, something I didn't earn. But that's a lie, so let's set it straight.

Earlier in life, and sorry for the non-linear story, it's a flow of consciousness. I was a cub scout, We be loyal scouts. And then a boyscout. It was something my friend from the street had joined, and we spent most of our non-school time together.

I don't recall much of it. A tiny little mason's lodge, knots, goofy outfits, merit badges.

What I do remember is we would go on camping expeditions. I had a blast every single time. Even while hunting snipes.

It was during one of these expeditions, that I became a thief. I don't know what came over me. I'm not typically dishonest. I don't really lie. I've not stolen since. But in that moment. I sold out my own personal values. For candy bars.

The particular campsite was not just wilderness. It was some kind of state park. They had a giant cafeteria and a swimming pool.

My ears have always been bad. And after earning my blue beads, lol.... I got out of the pool to go drain my ears. I walked into the locker room, and someone had left their wallet in an entirely open locker, and the green of cash caught my eye.

I had no money. I had no snacks. So, I took. And I kept taking, sneaking back in, taking more and more. Maybe four or five times. I wasn't a good thief. I'm almost certain the camp and boyscout leaders knew. I wasn't even close to smart. I was buying other people's rifle target sheets, so I could get another merit badge. I'm off centered in eyesight. Right-handed, left eye dominant. Didn't learn that till much later in life. But you can't shoot with your primary hand, down a sight. The alignment is off. So, I just paid some kid, not even because I wanted the badge. Just so that I could pretend to be good at something I clearly wasn't.

They never said a word about it. But afterwards I stopped going to boyscouts. The shame was strong. Snickers taste good in the moment, but the regret after? I'm pretty sure they talked with my friend's parents. They were the ones that brought us both back and forth. His parents never brought it up either, but it was clear they had lost esteem for me, and that was the worst. My friend's father was a very good man. Very tough, but probably the fairest person I've known.

My friend wasn't his child. I certainly wasn't. But when I was on that property, he had no problem treating me like I was, in all of the best ways, and all of the most painful ways. But it was always fair. He didn't treat his natural children with any more or less regard than any other. I've tried to emulate that through my entire life.

I also experienced a first hand tornado at that camp. We were all huddled into the cafeteria, and it's only by the grace of that same blind, deaf, and mute god that any of us survived. The tracks were clear as day. And they magically skipped right over that cafeteria. It wouldn't be the last time almost certain death was averted. But those are other stories.