Tug

By | Running Life's Race With A Limp | 2 Comments

Excuse me, sir . . . uh, Pardon me. The raised yet hesitant voice came from the gravel entry into our farm driveway. The black gentleman’s call turned me to his direction. He was on foot and I looked beyond him to the road. The four-lane highway passing our place linked Tulsa to Dallas and bore the weight of unnumbered…

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Bronco Country

By | Running Life's Race With A Limp | 8 Comments

Accounting. What am I doing in accounting?  My course choice made no sense. Like a Wall Street trader striding up to mount an unhappy bull at our rodeo. I had registered at Okmulgee Tech without the benefit of academic counselling – or common sense. I knew nothing of bookkeeping, had no aptitude for it. Better judgment won out before my…

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Musings

By | Running Life's Race With A Limp | No Comments

Did you hear the president’s been shot?  During several high school summers – when not bailing hay with him – I helped Dad as senior gopher in his small business. At City Plumbing my duties featured grunts, grime and unmentionable substances. Dodging spiders in under-house crawl-spaces I soaped fitting joints of gas lines. Bubbling up of liquid detergent applied by…

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Faces

By | Running Life's Race With A Limp | One Comment

I see black faces. Reverend Alta, our lady minister, signaled me with a compassionate but direct look. It was Sunday evening worship time in Okmulgee. I had entered my last semester of high school. Jerry, there are many of them gathered, she continued. A sea of black faces. You are standing before them. Speaking to them. I’m not sure what…

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Seed

By | Running Life's Race With A Limp | No Comments

Alright everybody. It’s that time!  Though the sanctuary lighting was nothing exceptional it highlighted the richest shock of blond hair I had ever seen. On anyone – male or female. The occasion – our youth rally, where teens showed up at that monthly gathering’s host church – wherever it happened to be. Oddly, for a clergy simply receiving an offering…

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Heart condition

By | Running Life's Race With A Limp | No Comments

Thirty years after my mother’s California journey I took the same bus line toward Colorado’s Rockies.  Past giant grain elevators of Enid where nearly half of Oklahoma’s harvested wheat is kept. We passed towns with romantic, historic, sometimes fanciful, names. Stillwater. Fort Supply. Slapout. At seventeen I had never travelled alone nor with strangers beyond about six miles of my…

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Tension

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  My friend Dan and his wife raised eight kids. Dan speaks of the foolishness of youth that only age cures. I qualified, and hope a lasting cure finds me soon. I fell hard for a girl. I’ll call her Sue. I was too young for such a relationship. Too naïve. Too much a romantic. And too head-strong. Sue was…

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Freed

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In battered tennis shoes we shuffled through leaves of gold and red. A wooded area on his family’s land. Kenny pointed to a brown clump of dead vines gracing a tree stump. End-of-Summer rains hadn’t arrived and we easily crossed the creek bed to reach them. I grinned. Yeah, these oughta smoke well.  A few pocket knife maneuvers and we…

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More

By | Running Life's Race With A Limp | No Comments

A gravel parking lot where two streets met hemmed in our little white church. Inside I scooted my trousered bottom cautiously along an unpolished church bench – taking care to dodge the occasional splinter. I gave in at times to a curious temptation – running my finger-tips along the bench’s underside. A braile-like search yielded my prize. A random trail…

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