My Life As A Hobby

It was near the end of summer in 1965. The beginning of school hung over me like a dark shadow. What’s worse, before it even began, I had to take a trip to the ACIPCO medical center to get up to date on all my shots. After two sticks in the arm without shedding one tear, mom awarded my bravery by walking me over to dad’s office. If the timing was right, I got to hang around until quitting time and ride home with him. It also almost certainly meant a trip to Dean’s Den.  Dean’s Den was a beer joint. My dad and my uncle stopped there regularly to knock back a couple before they headed home. And if I was with him, I got to knock back my drink of choice, an ice cold Grapico.  A beer joint may be hard to describe, but you’ll know when you see one. And Dean’s was one.  A squatty concrete block building, with faded white paint and a gravel parking lot sat on a corner of Main Street in Tarrant City - a blue collar suburb of Birmingham.   Dean’s Den was small and looke...

Well, in just a few days it’s going to happen. A small number of students at the University of Alabama will discover that a species of dinosaur still exists - one that is quite rare, but isn’t  quite extinct.   Specifically, this variety of dinosaur walks slowly on two legs, carry’s  an iPad ., and gets a Social Security check.  The scientific name is Antiquitus Academius , which is commonly known as “very  old student”. And if you haven’t guessed,  the dinosaur is me - a 71 year-old man who’s headed back to college. Even though I’m merely auditing a course on magazine writing ,  I will guarantee you I’m the oldest student on campus during the fall semester.   In the world of academia, going back to college school  in your late thirties is considered ancient. At 71, I’m sure to be considered prehistoric. I’m older than the professor, for goodness sake. Rather than be embarrassed by the situation, I’ve decided to have fun with it. For exa...

There are a lot of sci-fi movies and Twilight Zone episodes about someone who invents a time machine and goes back in time to make a change in their lives.  However, they soon discover it causes huge repercussions in the present day.  But what happens when part of your past comes back into your life in the here and now? I think the honest answer is: you can’t be sure. It depends on the circumstances.  I’ll let you know. That’s because last week I checked my voicemail and discovered a very unusual message. It was from Jean, a girl from my distant past, who wanted to talk to me. I was genuinely surprised for two reasons: It was almost 50 years ago - that’s a half-century, folks. Our relationship ended when she broke it off with me. That hurt eventually mellowed into fond memories I’ve pressed between the pages of my mind, like an old flower. I revisit them now and again. I’ve even written about the breakup, because I believe the pain of loss is an important life lesson t...

“Laughter is the best medicine” is a cliché everyone knows. And it is based on the truth. Studies have shown that laughter relieves stress, releases endorphins, and helps your overall well-being.   But in the case of cancer, I don’t think it’s true. If my doctor wants to treat me with radiation or show me a video of the Three Stooges, I’ll take the radiation every time.   Of course, if you have friends who are comedians, you can count on them to try laughter therapy on you anyway. I’ll admit, I was more than appreciative when Jay Leno gave me a call after hearing about my recent bout with cancer. And I’m thankful that my old writing partner, John Martin, let him know. I wasn’t surprised he reached out. What you see on camera is who he is - a genuine good guy. When my mom was in a serious car wreck, Jay called regularly to check on her. When my oldest son got into some bad trouble, Jay always asked about him. However, when I picked up the phone I knew better than to expec...

  I drifted back into consciousness expecting to see smiling faces; after all, it wasn’t supposed to be major surgery. Yes, they removed a knot on my neck, and yes, they had called it a tumor, but the ultrasound and biopsy indicated everything should be fine, even though the bump, about the size of a deviled egg, was officially classified as “suspicious.” No one seemed worried. We even gave the tumor a name: Tyrone. I was told that after about an hour under anesthesia, with a few precise cuts by my capable surgeon, I’d be on my way home by early afternoon. No problems, aside from my throat, which would feel like two tomcats had fought a death match in there. However, there were problems. Fortunately, I wasn’t aware of them before the slicing and dicing began. But when your post-surgery visit begins with the doctor shaking his head and saying, “Your procedure was one of the most difficult ones I’ve ever done,” everything changes. In that moment, my minor surgery became major surg...