I remember 1981. I was in the 8th grade at South Davie Junior High. I had my first “job” early that year working for a local beef and hay farmer. I remember picking up bales of hay that weighed just a little less than I did. A close friend of my father let me ride his horse back and forth to the farm to feed the cattle. I crossed over probably three different property owners to get to my destination. Back then, graciousness was common with neighbors as it relates to trespassing.
I remember getting a pair of cowboy boots for Christmas. The heels were probably two inches tall, but they made me feel a foot taller. I also purchased and wore a large western belt buckle that had a bull rider in the center of what could be called a silver billboard. The farmer trusted me at that age to run a John Deere 1020, I believe a 1970-year model. It gave me a lot of responsibility. With the cows that I fed, the horse that I rode, the1020, and my boots and buckle, I thought in my mind I was truly a cowboy, all 125 pounds of me.
I had a spiritual life at that age. It was that year I remember that I began to pray for a future wife. But, I not only prayed for a pretty one, but I also prayed she would be a Texan. Honest! My visions of Texas were ranches, cattle, horses, and western sunsets. In those sunsets were what I believed were the prettiest of girls. That year, the owner of Babe (the horse that I rode) invited me on a trip to Texas over Christmas to deliver a product that he had sold at his shop. He asked my parents if I could come along for the ride. They agreed and I was the most excited person you could imagine. Texas Bound!
Chuck picked me up on a cold December morning. I was wearing my boots, belt buckle and had a bag of homemade biscuits with country ham that my grandmother made for our journey. Unbeknownst to my mother, I had snuck a can of Skoal from my grandmother's store to try to make that imprint in my back pocket as I thought all true cowboys had. Chuck and I had the biscuits eaten by the time we hit the Iredell County line which is the neighboring county. Chuck was determined that we would Drive the 22-hour journey straight through. By the time we got to Asheville North Carolina, this cowboy was falling asleep on his partner. By the time we reach Knoxville Tennessee, I was awake and decided it was time to put a dip between my cheek and gum. Chuck, who at the time was a Levi Garrett chewing tobacco aficionado, didn’t say much about my pulling out the can of Skoal, opening the container, and beginning to dip. I immediately felt a sense of manhood as I began to dip. But about 7-mile markers outside of Knoxville, I began to get dizzy. I had my spit cup, but something was not going right with this tobacco experience. I quickly took my pointer finger, cleaned out my lower cheek of the tobacco, and did not dip for the balance of the trip. In fact, I never tried snuff again even to this day
By the time we got to Music town, Chuck was revving up the idea of the Mississippi River. He told me that I would not believe it. So, as a kid who grew up near the Yadkin River, I was expecting to see something amazing. A little less than nine hours into our journey we were entering the outskirts of Memphis Tennessee. Chuck, with anticipation in his voice, told me to get ready here it comes. We were on I 40 and all of a sudden we cross this bridge and I looked at the river with the biggest disappointment I have ever felt. I looked at the bridge, I looked at the water and said
“Is this all it is?”
Chuck, kept a very coy demeanor as he sat in the truck with a very disappointed young fella. Well, about 7 miles later I’ll look down in front of me and said Chuck “you’re not telling me the truth.” In front of me was the Hernando DeSoto Bridge crossing the truly Mighty Mississippi River. What we had crossed was the Wolf River, which is a little larger than the Yadkin River that I grew up around.
Our trip, now entering our third state, became somewhat eventful as, by the time we reached Little Rock, we were in a snowstorm, a pretty significant one. But we kept moving. About 18 hours into our journey, we entered Texarkana. I was wide awake and remember seeing this beautiful blonde driving in a pickup truck with a cowboy hat on. I thought I had entered the promised land. I don't really remember what she looked like, but she had a truck, a cowboy hat, and a Lone Star State license tag; she had to be gorgeous.
We stayed at his mom and dad’s house, which by the way had about 15 grandfather clocks. Sleep was a challenge at the top of every hour. One of our first ventures was to visit the flea market of Canton Texas. It is the oldest, largest continually operating outdoor market in the USA. It operates on hundreds of acres. Since I had entered the promised land, I felt it necessary to fit in with the natives. So, I bought myself a cowboy hat, not just any cowboy hat, a Texas cowboy hat. It wasn’t a 10-gallon hat, but he completed my western attire.
We were only in Texas for three days which included a Sunday. Chuck’s father, a godly man, invited us to the Greenville Church of Christ. I must admit, matters of spirituality were probably not on the top of my bucket list that Sunday morning. I was anxious to see what the junior high and high school crop of students look like now that I was in Texas.
I woke up in time to get my shower, opened my makeshift toiletry bag, and had the essentials except for hair product. It was very important for me that day to look my best. I didn’t want to wear my new hat and look like a wannabe. Sounding the alarm to Chuck that I needed hair product, he gave me his mother’s aerosol hairspray. So I combed my hair and sprayed liberally the hairspray, looked in the mirror with approval and off to church we went. On the way, I scratched my head and in my peripheral vision noticed flakes coming from my hair. I asked Chuck if he saw the same thing, and he concurred with my greatest fear. The hairspray stuck to my hair like glue and was beginning to flake out. So concerned, I put my head out the window to mess up my combed hair to get rid of the dust. Self-conscious during the entire worship assembly, I don’t remember a word or scripture that the preacher spoke about. I taxed my eye muscles looking at my shoulder.
It was that Trip that placed in my heart my desire to someday fall in love with a girl from Texas. What I didn’t know at the time is four years later I would meet my Texas sweetheart who at the time lived only 70 miles from Greenville, Texas the place that we visited.
It was not our time to meet. But I do remember from the eighth grade on I always had this desire to marry a girl from Texas.
We’ve been together now for 37 years and I’m still proud that I married that girl from Texas. I can only credit God for the desire to chase that Lonestar dream. I still wear boots, show up in a silver buckle often, even own longhorn cattle. I shed the notion of Skoal, aerosol hairspray, and spotting pretty girls with cowboy hats riding down the road and pick-up trucks. But the Texas-size hole that was in my heart was completely filled by God. I didn’t realize it in 1981 but he already had it planned out.
