My
grandpa used to tell me stories of all the stupid shit he did as a
kid, and got away with most of it. His stories never had a point to
them, no lesson because he had caught me doing something very
similar. No, he was bragging. And he did a lot of stupid shit, I
already posted about his riding a bull on the ranch, but he also got
his first speeding ticket at eleven years old, and had once torched a
tree with a flaming arrow because he was trying to shoot a crow.
After he died earlier this year, it dawned on me that I, too, have
done a ton of stupid shit in my life. I jumped off the roof of our
mobile home at nine years old, not because I thought I was the
distant relative of Kal-El that had also survived his exploding home
world after reading those comic books. No, I knew that was all made
up, I thought I was a goddamn mutant ninja turtle. Who knew that
their super powers kicked in with the whole teenager bit of their
story line? And with that jump off the roof, which is only about
fifteen feet off the ground, I didn't break anything. No bones, no
property damage, hell I didn't even get a scratch or bump on my
non-turtle mutated body. That stupid ass idea just affected my young
psyche, it scared the ever living shit out of me to never do that
again. Not on purpose anyway. And to this date, I have not jumped
from the roof of any mobile homes, I did from the roof of a house I
was working on but that was because I forgot to secure the ladder and
the wind blew the damn thing down, leaving me with just that one
option of jumping. I refused to call the fire department to come
rescue my ass off a roof, the laughing would never stop in this damn
little town. Also, I did not break any part of my body then either.
Score one more for that one day they taught us gymnastic tumbling in
elementary school, they told me to remember to “tuck and roll”
and I have never forgotten. I fell out of a moving golf cart in
college, more than once... okay, five times, because I was goofing
around, and once again that tumbling lesson kicked in, no injuries.
I'm
not saying I've never been hurt, I've broken every bone in both feet,
not all at the same time, I like to break one or two at a time just
to give myself that extra challenge of walking with high amounts of
screaming pain, all because I'm clumsy as crap and have a difficult
time not dropping weights right on the top of my foot. That leg day
at the gym can go suck a donkey's ass. I'm so used to breaking a damn
toe that I just put up with the pain anymore. I broke my wrist in
high school because I ride my bike like a bat out of hell and some
girl ran in front of me, I hit both brakes learning how Issac Newton
got the whole inertia thing correct when I flew over the handle bars.
I like to think that I looked like some bad ass martial artist doing
a flip on the ground with one hand, but the cast I had said
differently. Out of high school I got a job doing construction work
and had to tear apart a lot of showers, I learned that first time
that there is a sharp metal mesh under that tile holding up the
cement attached to said tile. I slipped on some busted up concrete,
grabbed the shower faucet, turning on the water and fell back onto
that freshly cut metal and sliced my back open. Right down the spine,
from ass crack to shoulder blades. I'll tell you what, that hurt like
a mother, and bled like a stuck pig too, that left me with a nice
Harry Potter style scar down the center of my back. I called a friend
of mine to take me to the hospital for it and he said it wasn't that
bad so he just used duck tape and gauze I had in my truck to bandage
me up. Don't do that kid's, pulling duck tape off is the worst pain I
have ever had.
I
don't have any tattoos, because I have enough scars. Scars are simply
a natural tattoo with a much better story. I once cut my thumb open
with a pressure washer because water is a power that people under
estimate. That happens to be my favorite scar. Another scar I have is
just a little dot on my hand, between the thumb and forefinger on my
left hand, and is not easy to spot because it just looks like a
freckle. When I was tearing apart another shower, if did that for
five or six years because it's a good way to get out aggression and
anger, I was using a grinder on a nasty tough bit of tile that just
wouldn't allow itself to be removed from its home. The grinder
caught, taking a foot long sliver off one tile, and sent that fucker
right into my hand, and up the arm. Just under the skin, through the
glove that bull-riders wear because nothing goes through those
things. Pulling that thing out was the nastiest thing I have done, I
looked like Wolverine with a dislocated needle sized claw made of
ceramic tile. Just writing that out caused my skin to crawl again. My
grandpa once decided that using dog shears on a six year old head
would be a good idea since I had needed a haircut and the barber was
closed. He didn't know that those shears would heat up that much and
a dog's skin is much thicker than a human child's. Hello burn scar on
the side of my head.
The
one good concussion I have had was also on a demo job, I took a lot
of damage to my body for a small amount of money, it was at a condo
and for some stupid reason the builders thought that a stairway
across from the doorway that headed to the third floor, and just for
shits and giggles left the underside open for a “storage area.” I
was telling my boss jokes the whole time and had nearly clocked
myself on that stairway a few times before and we were having a hoot
of a time about how close I had gotten. The final time, Randy, the
guy I was working for, said I walked out with two full five gallon
buckets of debris and slammed my head right into the timber, at full
speed. I staggered backward and fell over the railing into a snowbank
two stories below. Luckily the snow was fresh from the night before
and a few feet thick so I had a nice soft landing. I do not remember
any of that, other than what Randy told me over and over until he
passed away a couple years ago. It was a great laugh at the fucking
bar, because it was a story of someone else because that memory is
just not there. Along with several other parts of my life at nineteen
and twenty years old. Bits and pieces are there, like a couple faces
I know some how but there are no names or reasons why I know those
people are in the flitting memories. It's a pain in the ass. And I
miss Randy, he wasn't the best boss I had, and not even close to the
worst, but he was a damn fine friend that was always in for a good
joke, the raunchier the better. He's the reason I love whiskey, and
one reason I no longer drink alcohol, too. He was brash, and could be
annoying as hell but was always smiling and could take a lot of jokes
aimed right at him. My wit is stronger because of him, he was an
easier target than my mom. He loved the song Walkin' 'Round InWomen's Underwear by Bob Rivers, and I try to get it played on
the radio stations here at Christmas time, but they all claim it's
too offensive to play. Bullshit, it's just a funny song, assholes, and
my friend is dead and this request is in memory of him, get your
prudish heads out of your asses and play the fucking song! So I just
link to it from YouTube and tag him on Facebook, since his page will
never go away. I learned a lot from that man, mostly what not to do,
but when I have had people work for me, I make sure we have a good
laugh or two. And I pay better. May that asshole rest in peace.
You
can follow me on Facebook now, it's mostly links back to here but
maybe I'll start posting some of those stupid jokes I told Randy, or
link to Bob Rivers songs for the hell of it.
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