In late August in 1974, my parents were tending camp
on the mountain, so my brothers and I decided Friday
night was a great time to begin celebrating the
sunset of haying season.
Like a prairie fire in a drought, our
festivities quickly got out of hand with me being
the weekend’s first casualty; the victim of a poorly
planned backfire ignited from a tequila bottle.
Live and learn…if you are lucky.
Saturday night was the Dusk-to-Dawn quadruple
feature at the Skyline Drive-in Theater; an event
demanding our attendance.
We fired up the family, nine-passenger,
station wagon and headed to town and because I
recently swore off alcohol, I was the driver.
Dana, my older brother, had arranged a date
with a girl who lived 30 miles north of Sheridan.
This meant leaving the ranch around five
o-clock, picking her up and stopping at the Decker
Post Office and Convenience Store for the evening’s
refreshments all to beat the crowds to the preferred
parking spaces at the drive-in.
The four movies made for a very, very, very
long night with passengers who weren’t nearly as
cute as they thought they were.
We dropped off Dana’s date and rolled back
into the ranch as dawn was breaking, thus closing
out a weekend I hoped was gone forever.
Such was not
the case.
Tuesday afternoon I was stacking bales when Dad
drove across the field and climbed up on the stack.
He began
bitching about break-downs and finding “beer bottles
under the third seat of the station wagon.”
At that moment, the earth fell off its axis,
so I waited for it to start spinning again before I
said anything. “I
hear you all went to the movies Saturday night,” he
said.
“Who drove?”
“I did,” I confessed, questioning the exact
whereabouts of my older brother who had previously
assured me he had scrubbed all party residue from
the car.
“Mom said she found your vomit covered sheets in the
laundry.
You drank so much you got sick and you drove
home?” he asked.
“Not exactly,” I mumbled.
“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?” Dad shot back.
I
kicked at the hay bales and played dumb.
“You are already in trouble, so you just as
well come clean.”
Congress is half-full of socialists, but only Bernie
Sanders (I-VT) openly admits it.
His presidential campaign is attracting so
much support from American millennial,
mini-Marxists, Hillary Clinton is racing to beat him
to the left wing of the political spectrum.
With those two battling as to who is the
bigger leftist, DNC Party Chairman Debbie Wasserman
Schultz was recently asked by MSNBC’s Chris Mathews
to explain the difference between Democrats and
Socialists.
She stumbled, stammered, and struggled for an
intelligent response just like a 17-year-old boy
standing on a haystack on a hot day in August.
She should come clean—there is no difference.
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