All I want for Christmas is a handful of coins and a hot glue gun
This past weekend, I had the joy of spending the last weekend before Christmas in the malls between Wilmington and Durham. What joy!
Actually, I don’t mind being at the mall during the holiday season. There is something enjoyable about being in the frenzy and watching the mass of humanity scurry around with their bags of gifts and checking their lists.
Leigh and my son had gone into a store leaving me with my daughter in her stroller which was loaded down with shopping bags, a pocket book and large Chick-fil-a cups full of tea.
While I was walking, I couldn’t help but watch all of the mall employees. Some were taking breaks and texting friends, some were eating a quick lunch in the food court and there was the occasional conversation from one store to another that walkers-by inevitably became a part of.
Taking all of this in reminded me of my days working at a local mall in Maryland.
When I turned 16 and got my drivers license, I quickly learned that it took money to fill up the gas tank and pay for the insurance.
A job at the new local mall was quickly applied for. I not only drove now, I proudly jockeyed a register at a T-shirt shop.
One year, a friend of mine asked if I wanted some part-time work for the holiday.
His mom and dad had bought into a little craft business, rented a Kiosk in the mall and needed cheap, unskilled labor. We were just the people for the job.
We made signs that were constructed of a wood backing. Painted wood letters were hot glued to the backing and would spell out last names, catchy sayings or titles like “Mom’s Kitchen,” “The Smith’s House,” “John’s Golf Shack,” “Ronald’s Rumpus Room.” Anything that could be spelled and glued down, was.
During the week, business was slow and two of us usually worked the stand together. To break the boredom, we would read, have friends come by to visit and sometimes we would just get creative.
For a 17-year-old, boredom and a glue gun are a dangerous combination. One night while the evening was dragging, my coworker and I came up with something new to keep us amused.
A glue gun was heated and a few quarters and dimes were pulled out of our pockets.
We spread a small amount of glue to one side of a coin and when no one was around, we would quickly adhere it to the floor in front of our kiosk.
Like giggly little girls, we waited for people to come by and try to pick the coin up.
I don’t know exactly what makes it so entertaining, but watching people from three to eighty-three years old try to pick up a glued down quarter will make anyone double over with laughter.
Most adults would give it one good try and realize that they were tricked, laugh, and walk away. Children, on the other hand, took it personally.
Once a child and father walked by and the kid just about dove for the glued quarter taking his father with him. “Com’on!” the father said, and the little boy hurried along, looking back over his shoulder at the beckoning coin.
About twenty minutes later, the same child came running down the corridor and with the grace of an NFL punter, kicked at the stuck coin while in full-run. It didn’t budge.
The father yelled at him, the boy stomped away in defeat and my friend and I were laughing so hard we were crying.
I had a lot of fun and many carefree moments working in that mall.
Watching the young people, this past weekend, working their jobs, and taking their breaks, took me back in time and I think helped in calming my nerves.
As I sat in a black massage chair in the middle of the mall, I took in all of the action while listening to the mall Mu-zak and wondered how hard it would be to talk one of those kids into gluing a quarter to the floor while I waited for Leigh and Ethan.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
12-18-08
Hard times and Robert Earl Keen; nothing else needed for Christmas this year
Around this time of year I find myself STRESSED.
I work a little extra to make money for Christmas and then finding myself with no time to go shopping for gifts because I have spent all my time working to make money to go shopping. Phew!
Since I moved my family down here, it has been a struggle. We sold our house in Maryland so that we could stake our claim and be close to family.
From the start it was tough. I couldn’t afford to pay someone to build my house and we didn’t have a house to go back to. It was being lived in by a young woman and her new white Corvette.
We did get help from family who put us up and put up with us for a year and a half while Jim T. Norris and I built my house and shop. Bless that man’s heart for helping me.
Yes, I said shop. I closed a lucrative motorcycle painting business in Maryland to move it down here.
Well, we completed the construction, my family and I moved in and the house hasn’t fallen down... yet. All of the hard times have been forgotten and the real tough spots are being laughed about these days. I was probably crying about them during that time, but everything is good now.
We have been in the house for three years now. The walls are still white, no trim and one bathroom still needs some tile work.
By the end of the first year living in the house, my son had grown into a four-year-old going on 20 the economy tanked, I had to close my shop and my wife and I had another child.
When I had to close the doors on my shop, I was fortunate enough to get this job with the Times and my wife found a teaching job. Did I mention that she was going to school full time to finish her teaching degree while we were building?
We begged, borrowed and wiped out all we had saved and depleted my 401k to be able to move into our house. There was also a lot of sweat and a nail shot into someone’s kneecap from a nail gun, but that’s another story.
To this day, I wouldn’t change a thing. Talk about things making you stronger; I’m the Hulk at the early age of 36.
Now, to the point of my story. (Better late than never.)
I was listening to a Robert Earl Keen album the other night and yes, I remember LPs. It was a song about a man that was working his life away to send all of his money back to his poor family and this was the only way they could live.
Listening to the song, I quickly realized how good I have it. I have a ton of things to complain about but my family and I have a roof over our head, my wife and I have jobs and my kids have no idea that we are stretching every single dollar to make sure that they have no idea that times are tough.
I watched them playing with toys that have been handed down from my sister’s son. They were having so much fun with each other, not knowing that things could be better and not caring that they weren’t.
At that moment, I realized that I didn’t need a single thing for Christmas. I already have it.
Bryan Pinkey can be found setting up smoke and mirrors for his kids or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
Around this time of year I find myself STRESSED.
I work a little extra to make money for Christmas and then finding myself with no time to go shopping for gifts because I have spent all my time working to make money to go shopping. Phew!
Since I moved my family down here, it has been a struggle. We sold our house in Maryland so that we could stake our claim and be close to family.
From the start it was tough. I couldn’t afford to pay someone to build my house and we didn’t have a house to go back to. It was being lived in by a young woman and her new white Corvette.
We did get help from family who put us up and put up with us for a year and a half while Jim T. Norris and I built my house and shop. Bless that man’s heart for helping me.
Yes, I said shop. I closed a lucrative motorcycle painting business in Maryland to move it down here.
Well, we completed the construction, my family and I moved in and the house hasn’t fallen down... yet. All of the hard times have been forgotten and the real tough spots are being laughed about these days. I was probably crying about them during that time, but everything is good now.
We have been in the house for three years now. The walls are still white, no trim and one bathroom still needs some tile work.
By the end of the first year living in the house, my son had grown into a four-year-old going on 20 the economy tanked, I had to close my shop and my wife and I had another child.
When I had to close the doors on my shop, I was fortunate enough to get this job with the Times and my wife found a teaching job. Did I mention that she was going to school full time to finish her teaching degree while we were building?
We begged, borrowed and wiped out all we had saved and depleted my 401k to be able to move into our house. There was also a lot of sweat and a nail shot into someone’s kneecap from a nail gun, but that’s another story.
To this day, I wouldn’t change a thing. Talk about things making you stronger; I’m the Hulk at the early age of 36.
Now, to the point of my story. (Better late than never.)
I was listening to a Robert Earl Keen album the other night and yes, I remember LPs. It was a song about a man that was working his life away to send all of his money back to his poor family and this was the only way they could live.
Listening to the song, I quickly realized how good I have it. I have a ton of things to complain about but my family and I have a roof over our head, my wife and I have jobs and my kids have no idea that we are stretching every single dollar to make sure that they have no idea that times are tough.
I watched them playing with toys that have been handed down from my sister’s son. They were having so much fun with each other, not knowing that things could be better and not caring that they weren’t.
At that moment, I realized that I didn’t need a single thing for Christmas. I already have it.
Bryan Pinkey can be found setting up smoke and mirrors for his kids or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
12-4-08
Rain and dirt; the only ingredients needed for a successful cook out
A month of planning and preperation; but all I really needed was a little bit of mud
This past weekend I had some family and friends over for a little cook-out. It has sort of grown into a tradition that started a few years ago.
When my family started to move to different areas of the East Coast, we only had a few times a year to visit. Thanksgiving seemed to be that time that everyone was in one place.
The day after Thanksgiving was always the best time for everyone to come over to my house and just enjoy the day. My father, brother and I would cut down dead trees from around my pond and clean fallen limbs from the woods. A nice roaring fire would provide us with enough heat so that we would only need a flannel shirt, jeans and boots. This, to me, is an ideal fall day. My mom, wife and sister would watch the children play and watch us work. They also do a great job of providing us all with a good helping of sandwiches and chips at break time.
This year we decided to take it to the next level. Friday was going to be for the fore-mentioned boys to clean the woods and pond to supply enough wood for a large bonfire. Saturday was going to be the cook out day.
After working well into the evening cutting wood and generally burning everything in sight, we had a nice pile of coals to start the next day’s fire.
Five a.m. Saturday came awfully quick for my brother and me. We woke up to start the grill, prep the pig and throw it in the heated grill. It was raining pretty good, so we knew that it was going to be a party confined to the shelter and my shop.
The coals in the fire pit were still so hot in the morning that a few pieces of wood were thrown on and the fire reignited. In between rain showers, we stoked the fire and kept it going all day.
Everyone that was expected to show, did. One-by-one the cars and trucks made their way up my muddy driveway. I forgot how bad my road could get with a combination of rain and traffic. It was like four-wheeling through the rain forest.
With all of this rain, I thought that the kids were going to get bored and restless. Somehow they kept themselves entertained and stayed out of trouble. They were all actually very good. I didn’t see a single fit being thrown or any fighting. The only pouting was when a few of them had to go home.
At about 7:00 p.m., the children found their gold mine.
Without warning we heard, giggling, shouting, and a ton of deep-down-belly-laughing. A large mud hole had been found by the little-ones and no adults had seen them playing in it.
One little boy was stomping in the mud with his new hunting boots. Another was high centered on his bike because the training wheels lifted his back wheel from the ground. He was spinning a rooster tail of black, wet dirt up the front of an unsuspecting little girl who happened to be standing behind him.
By the time parents realized what was going on, it was too late to do anything about the mess. The children were having the time of their life and there was no point in stopping them.
This is what being a kid is all about, those brief moments when you can make your parents and family laugh at something that you would normally get in big trouble for.
With all of the toys, guests, food and planning, the mud hole was the biggest hit. Next year we’re going to make it an even better party, even if it means I have to truck in a load of mud.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at home cleaning muddy toys or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
A month of planning and preperation; but all I really needed was a little bit of mud
This past weekend I had some family and friends over for a little cook-out. It has sort of grown into a tradition that started a few years ago.
When my family started to move to different areas of the East Coast, we only had a few times a year to visit. Thanksgiving seemed to be that time that everyone was in one place.
The day after Thanksgiving was always the best time for everyone to come over to my house and just enjoy the day. My father, brother and I would cut down dead trees from around my pond and clean fallen limbs from the woods. A nice roaring fire would provide us with enough heat so that we would only need a flannel shirt, jeans and boots. This, to me, is an ideal fall day. My mom, wife and sister would watch the children play and watch us work. They also do a great job of providing us all with a good helping of sandwiches and chips at break time.
This year we decided to take it to the next level. Friday was going to be for the fore-mentioned boys to clean the woods and pond to supply enough wood for a large bonfire. Saturday was going to be the cook out day.
After working well into the evening cutting wood and generally burning everything in sight, we had a nice pile of coals to start the next day’s fire.
Five a.m. Saturday came awfully quick for my brother and me. We woke up to start the grill, prep the pig and throw it in the heated grill. It was raining pretty good, so we knew that it was going to be a party confined to the shelter and my shop.
The coals in the fire pit were still so hot in the morning that a few pieces of wood were thrown on and the fire reignited. In between rain showers, we stoked the fire and kept it going all day.
Everyone that was expected to show, did. One-by-one the cars and trucks made their way up my muddy driveway. I forgot how bad my road could get with a combination of rain and traffic. It was like four-wheeling through the rain forest.
With all of this rain, I thought that the kids were going to get bored and restless. Somehow they kept themselves entertained and stayed out of trouble. They were all actually very good. I didn’t see a single fit being thrown or any fighting. The only pouting was when a few of them had to go home.
At about 7:00 p.m., the children found their gold mine.
Without warning we heard, giggling, shouting, and a ton of deep-down-belly-laughing. A large mud hole had been found by the little-ones and no adults had seen them playing in it.
One little boy was stomping in the mud with his new hunting boots. Another was high centered on his bike because the training wheels lifted his back wheel from the ground. He was spinning a rooster tail of black, wet dirt up the front of an unsuspecting little girl who happened to be standing behind him.
By the time parents realized what was going on, it was too late to do anything about the mess. The children were having the time of their life and there was no point in stopping them.
This is what being a kid is all about, those brief moments when you can make your parents and family laugh at something that you would normally get in big trouble for.
With all of the toys, guests, food and planning, the mud hole was the biggest hit. Next year we’re going to make it an even better party, even if it means I have to truck in a load of mud.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at home cleaning muddy toys or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
11-27-08
Sometimes the best entertainment is in the theater of your own home
Last week I promised my wife that I wasn’t going to write about our family for a little while. I agreed. I do write quite a bit about us.
However, I have to tell this one last story.
The other day, I came home from work and the house smelled of a dinner that I needed really bad, and Nash and Ethan were running around playing. Actually getting along. Quickly I stepped back out and checked the number on the house.
Leigh was working at the stove and my son was playing at his play cook stove pretending to cook his own meal. I stepped in and tended the pots and pans for a bit and Ethan kept on “cooking.” He would occasionally bring over a brightly colored plastic pot with a plastic turkey or plastic hot dog in it and ask me or Leigh to test it to see if it needed more salt or if it had to much garlic.
Where does he get this from? Oh. Us.
After a little while of playing this out, he got bored and upped the “playing” field. “I have a table for Leigh, Bryan and Nash. Your table is now ready,” Ethan announced.
Well, who couldn’t resist that. So we put the lids on our pots and pans, turned the temperature down on the real stove and walked over to have our wonderful plastic smorgasbord. I told Ethan that he was the best cook and that there was no need for Mommy and Daddy to even finish cooking dinner.
He disagreed.
After we finished our plastic meal and cleaned our plastic place setting, we went back to cooking our real meal.
Nash stuck around to chew and lick on all of the plastic food that she now found.
Ethan was being really nice and was trying to pull back anything that he didn’t want her to play with so that he could cook our plastic dessert. Nash started to get upset because she couldn’t have all of the newfound toys.
After a few minutes of them going back and forth, I noticed her pulling the entire stove and yelling at Ethan. I wasn’t sure how this was going to turn out but I figured they would work it out.
Her yelling and whining escalated into full on screaming.
Without missing a beat, I hear Ethan call out to Leigh and me, “Excuse me. You forgot your kid!”
I was telling my brother this story and he reminded me of another.
My nephew, Justin, was visiting with my mom and dad and was playing with a toy cash register he brought along. This toy had buttons, bells, a drawer that slid open and a little microphone that he could talk into.
My dad sat down to play with him for a few minutes.
”That will be $5.00 sir.” Justin said. Dad handed him a ten dollar bill from his wallet.
Justin responded with a “Thank you.”
Opening the drawer, he slid the bill in and closed the drawer back up. “Have a nice day, sir.”
“I need my change.” Dad retorted. Justin quickly replied, “Sir, you will have to come back tomorrow.”
Justin got up grabbed his toy cash register and began to leave the room.
“Justin, give me my money back.”
The little clerk quietly turned around, set down the register, leaned into the toy microphone and calmly said, “Security.”
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
Last week I promised my wife that I wasn’t going to write about our family for a little while. I agreed. I do write quite a bit about us.
However, I have to tell this one last story.
The other day, I came home from work and the house smelled of a dinner that I needed really bad, and Nash and Ethan were running around playing. Actually getting along. Quickly I stepped back out and checked the number on the house.
Leigh was working at the stove and my son was playing at his play cook stove pretending to cook his own meal. I stepped in and tended the pots and pans for a bit and Ethan kept on “cooking.” He would occasionally bring over a brightly colored plastic pot with a plastic turkey or plastic hot dog in it and ask me or Leigh to test it to see if it needed more salt or if it had to much garlic.
Where does he get this from? Oh. Us.
After a little while of playing this out, he got bored and upped the “playing” field. “I have a table for Leigh, Bryan and Nash. Your table is now ready,” Ethan announced.
Well, who couldn’t resist that. So we put the lids on our pots and pans, turned the temperature down on the real stove and walked over to have our wonderful plastic smorgasbord. I told Ethan that he was the best cook and that there was no need for Mommy and Daddy to even finish cooking dinner.
He disagreed.
After we finished our plastic meal and cleaned our plastic place setting, we went back to cooking our real meal.
Nash stuck around to chew and lick on all of the plastic food that she now found.
Ethan was being really nice and was trying to pull back anything that he didn’t want her to play with so that he could cook our plastic dessert. Nash started to get upset because she couldn’t have all of the newfound toys.
After a few minutes of them going back and forth, I noticed her pulling the entire stove and yelling at Ethan. I wasn’t sure how this was going to turn out but I figured they would work it out.
Her yelling and whining escalated into full on screaming.
Without missing a beat, I hear Ethan call out to Leigh and me, “Excuse me. You forgot your kid!”
I was telling my brother this story and he reminded me of another.
My nephew, Justin, was visiting with my mom and dad and was playing with a toy cash register he brought along. This toy had buttons, bells, a drawer that slid open and a little microphone that he could talk into.
My dad sat down to play with him for a few minutes.
”That will be $5.00 sir.” Justin said. Dad handed him a ten dollar bill from his wallet.
Justin responded with a “Thank you.”
Opening the drawer, he slid the bill in and closed the drawer back up. “Have a nice day, sir.”
“I need my change.” Dad retorted. Justin quickly replied, “Sir, you will have to come back tomorrow.”
Justin got up grabbed his toy cash register and began to leave the room.
“Justin, give me my money back.”
The little clerk quietly turned around, set down the register, leaned into the toy microphone and calmly said, “Security.”
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
11-20-08
A father needing a fellow father to lean on at just the right time
I strongly believe in serendipity. There are times that things happen for no reason other than it was supposed to happen. Sometimes it can change your world.
A few days ago, I was picking my daughter up at day care and crossed paths with a fellow father who I often talk with briefly in passing. Normally the conversations are quick, to the point and are lacking deep purpose. Not to sound shallow, that is just how early morning conversations at day care go.
I am sure most “day care conversations” are like this. Parents in a rush to get to work give the courteous “Hello” or “How’s it going,” followed by a quick weather update and a “Well, gotta’ run!” They are as common as tater-tots and apple juice.
I don’t even know this father’s name but we talk like old buddies when we see each other. He is just a pleasant person to talk with.
Not too long ago, he and his wife had an addition to their family just as Leigh and I did. They already had a child that went to school with ours. I remember him in the mornings dropping off his kid and trying to get to work. He was stressed because his wife was still in the hospital and he was taking care of everything that he normally did and what his wife wasn’t around to do.
A lot of you women out there are probably saying, “Wimp, we do that every day plus a hundred other things and never complain.”
Yes you do, but the male species just can’t do it. We were not programed for that kind of multi-tasking. Women are like a Mac computer and men are pretty much an Atari 2600 at best. Women can multi-task without overheating and men struggle to do one thing at a time and have a hard time doing that very well.
I guess what I am saying is he was doing a great job by fellow man standards.
I saw him across the parking lot, the other day. He was strapping his children into their car seats. Raising my hand, I said, “How’s it going?” As I got closer, we began to talk. He was obviously stressed.
He began to go right into how he was worried about his oldest child’s misbehaving and was on the verge of a nervious breakdown. I could tell. I’ve been there.
I knew that lost look in his eyes. In front of me was the husk of a strong man that had been slowly beaten down by the blackjack of raising a four-year-old child. I’ve been there.
He was going on about how every time he turned around he felt like he was reprimanding his son. They were yelling and fighting all of the time. He said that there was just an overall feeling of chaos and disrespect between them. What really hit home was when he said that he just didn’t know what to do anymore and didn’t know what he was doing wrong. I could hear the ugly sound of defeat in his voice. I’ve been there, too.
I stayed and talked with him for a good twenty minutes and tried to let him know that I had and still go through the very same thing. Dealing with the verbal beating that the kids like to give out is no reflection on parenting skills. This is just what kids are programed to do and they are a streamlined supercomputer at doing it.
When we finished talking, or I should say, when the kids decided we were finished talking, I could see a slight calm had come over him. I think that just knowing that he wasn’t the only parent going through this made everything fall into a peaceful place in his world.
I didn’t give any groundbreaking advice to him, but I think at that moment in time I was supposed to be right there crossing his path and ready to listen. Sometimes that is all it takes to make a big difference in another person’s life. Just listening. I know because I’ve been there.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
I strongly believe in serendipity. There are times that things happen for no reason other than it was supposed to happen. Sometimes it can change your world.
A few days ago, I was picking my daughter up at day care and crossed paths with a fellow father who I often talk with briefly in passing. Normally the conversations are quick, to the point and are lacking deep purpose. Not to sound shallow, that is just how early morning conversations at day care go.
I am sure most “day care conversations” are like this. Parents in a rush to get to work give the courteous “Hello” or “How’s it going,” followed by a quick weather update and a “Well, gotta’ run!” They are as common as tater-tots and apple juice.
I don’t even know this father’s name but we talk like old buddies when we see each other. He is just a pleasant person to talk with.
Not too long ago, he and his wife had an addition to their family just as Leigh and I did. They already had a child that went to school with ours. I remember him in the mornings dropping off his kid and trying to get to work. He was stressed because his wife was still in the hospital and he was taking care of everything that he normally did and what his wife wasn’t around to do.
A lot of you women out there are probably saying, “Wimp, we do that every day plus a hundred other things and never complain.”
Yes you do, but the male species just can’t do it. We were not programed for that kind of multi-tasking. Women are like a Mac computer and men are pretty much an Atari 2600 at best. Women can multi-task without overheating and men struggle to do one thing at a time and have a hard time doing that very well.
I guess what I am saying is he was doing a great job by fellow man standards.
I saw him across the parking lot, the other day. He was strapping his children into their car seats. Raising my hand, I said, “How’s it going?” As I got closer, we began to talk. He was obviously stressed.
He began to go right into how he was worried about his oldest child’s misbehaving and was on the verge of a nervious breakdown. I could tell. I’ve been there.
I knew that lost look in his eyes. In front of me was the husk of a strong man that had been slowly beaten down by the blackjack of raising a four-year-old child. I’ve been there.
He was going on about how every time he turned around he felt like he was reprimanding his son. They were yelling and fighting all of the time. He said that there was just an overall feeling of chaos and disrespect between them. What really hit home was when he said that he just didn’t know what to do anymore and didn’t know what he was doing wrong. I could hear the ugly sound of defeat in his voice. I’ve been there, too.
I stayed and talked with him for a good twenty minutes and tried to let him know that I had and still go through the very same thing. Dealing with the verbal beating that the kids like to give out is no reflection on parenting skills. This is just what kids are programed to do and they are a streamlined supercomputer at doing it.
When we finished talking, or I should say, when the kids decided we were finished talking, I could see a slight calm had come over him. I think that just knowing that he wasn’t the only parent going through this made everything fall into a peaceful place in his world.
I didn’t give any groundbreaking advice to him, but I think at that moment in time I was supposed to be right there crossing his path and ready to listen. Sometimes that is all it takes to make a big difference in another person’s life. Just listening. I know because I’ve been there.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
11-6-08
Ever since I handed over the crown, my abilities have been diminishing
Last week I wrote extensively about my infatuation with scaring people, one of the most simple and fulfilling pleasures around. A few weeks ago my four-year-old son, scared me real good and the “scaring crown” was passed down to the next generation.
Wednesday evening, my neighbor’s parents had family and friends over for a haunted hay ride. Will, my neighbor, called on me and about four other friends to help him with the scaring duties.
The plan was for his father, Mr. David, to saddle up two horses and pull a wagon filled with hay, kids and parents through their farm. Mr. David was going to take them on a trip through the farm and down a stretch of dirt road that snaked through the woods. This is where the “ten-year-old” adult males came into the picture.
Will handed out masks and, while the hyper little race car drivers, monsters, cowboys and princesses weren’t looking, we piled into his pick-up.
The five of us drove down the trail and searched for large trees or deer paths to hide in. We all found our hiding spots and waited quietly for the sound of wagon wheels and hooves clip-clopping down the path.
I don’t know about the other guys, but anticipation was building inside of me like I did when I was a young boy plotting a good scare on my younger brother or sister.
My reminiscing was broken with the sound of children talking and horses working hard to keep the kids entertained.
All of a sudden, screaming began. They had reached the first “scare point.”
One of the guys had found a deer stand that wasn’t to high off of the ground. I couldn’t see what he was doing but I think that he jumped down after the horses went past and scared the kids in the back of the wagon.
When they finally reached my spot, they knew what was going on. They were sort of prepared and I think not as scared as I would have liked them to be.
I figured I better turn my game up a notch.
After the horses passed by, I ran out screaming at the top of my lungs in the deepest voice I could muster. My vocal cords were hurting and I was trying to get to the back of the wagon so I could grab one of the kids. The small holes in the skeleton mask were making it hard to see. So there I was, a skeleton trying to run with his hand on his chin to keep his face on and looking down at the ground every other step to keep from tripping. I am sure this sort of blew my cover a little bit. Finally, I reached the back of the wagon and a kid was in sight. I reached out and grabbed his yellow jacket. All the while I was moaning and screeching. The children around him started screaming and throwing hay at me. Thinking that I would really get them scared, I got a hold on the yellow-jacketed boy, Cole, and began to pull him from the back of the wagon.
WHACK! I was seeing stars.
“I did it,” yelled Cole, “I punched the skeleton in the face.”
All of the children started cheering and yelling.
After my nose stopped running and the birds in my head stopped chirping, I met up with my brothers-in-arms. They were laughing, not with me, but at me.
I am sure I would have been laughing too if I was the one watching it happen. I probably would have doubled over and lost my breath from laughing so hard with hiccups to ensue.
My game was obviously not turned up that “notch.” My head was hanging in shame.
If I knew that taking the proverbial crown off and passing it on to my son would take all of my powers away, I would have never acknowledged the fact that he scared me a few weeks ago.
My tactics need to be re-thought. Someone is going to get it, just you wait. I can’t go out like that!
Bryan Pinkey can be reached plotting his revenge in a dark basement or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
Last week I wrote extensively about my infatuation with scaring people, one of the most simple and fulfilling pleasures around. A few weeks ago my four-year-old son, scared me real good and the “scaring crown” was passed down to the next generation.
Wednesday evening, my neighbor’s parents had family and friends over for a haunted hay ride. Will, my neighbor, called on me and about four other friends to help him with the scaring duties.
The plan was for his father, Mr. David, to saddle up two horses and pull a wagon filled with hay, kids and parents through their farm. Mr. David was going to take them on a trip through the farm and down a stretch of dirt road that snaked through the woods. This is where the “ten-year-old” adult males came into the picture.
Will handed out masks and, while the hyper little race car drivers, monsters, cowboys and princesses weren’t looking, we piled into his pick-up.
The five of us drove down the trail and searched for large trees or deer paths to hide in. We all found our hiding spots and waited quietly for the sound of wagon wheels and hooves clip-clopping down the path.
I don’t know about the other guys, but anticipation was building inside of me like I did when I was a young boy plotting a good scare on my younger brother or sister.
My reminiscing was broken with the sound of children talking and horses working hard to keep the kids entertained.
All of a sudden, screaming began. They had reached the first “scare point.”
One of the guys had found a deer stand that wasn’t to high off of the ground. I couldn’t see what he was doing but I think that he jumped down after the horses went past and scared the kids in the back of the wagon.
When they finally reached my spot, they knew what was going on. They were sort of prepared and I think not as scared as I would have liked them to be.
I figured I better turn my game up a notch.
After the horses passed by, I ran out screaming at the top of my lungs in the deepest voice I could muster. My vocal cords were hurting and I was trying to get to the back of the wagon so I could grab one of the kids. The small holes in the skeleton mask were making it hard to see. So there I was, a skeleton trying to run with his hand on his chin to keep his face on and looking down at the ground every other step to keep from tripping. I am sure this sort of blew my cover a little bit. Finally, I reached the back of the wagon and a kid was in sight. I reached out and grabbed his yellow jacket. All the while I was moaning and screeching. The children around him started screaming and throwing hay at me. Thinking that I would really get them scared, I got a hold on the yellow-jacketed boy, Cole, and began to pull him from the back of the wagon.
WHACK! I was seeing stars.
“I did it,” yelled Cole, “I punched the skeleton in the face.”
All of the children started cheering and yelling.
After my nose stopped running and the birds in my head stopped chirping, I met up with my brothers-in-arms. They were laughing, not with me, but at me.
I am sure I would have been laughing too if I was the one watching it happen. I probably would have doubled over and lost my breath from laughing so hard with hiccups to ensue.
My game was obviously not turned up that “notch.” My head was hanging in shame.
If I knew that taking the proverbial crown off and passing it on to my son would take all of my powers away, I would have never acknowledged the fact that he scared me a few weeks ago.
My tactics need to be re-thought. Someone is going to get it, just you wait. I can’t go out like that!
Bryan Pinkey can be reached plotting his revenge in a dark basement or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
10-30-08
A family that scares together, stays together
My grandfather, on my Dad’s side, is the type of person who loves to play a joke or scare the life out of an unsuspecting person.
This might be where I get it from. I love to scare people. It doesn’t matter how old or how small they are. Scaring someone is such a classic way of making someone scream and someone else, usually the person doing the scaring, laugh and cry at the same time.
I just love it!
On the other hand, I will get so mad at someone who scares me. I hate it with a passion. I mean hate it.
I’m not sure what it is about scaring people that I love so much. I am sure a psychologist would have a chapter to show you about people like me. They could probably go on to tell you about all of the things that were missing in my life and how I try to get some form of fulfillment through making people feel weak and vulnerable.
Blah, blah, blah, blah. I’ll scare them too, if I get the chance!
With my brother and sister being younger than me, I had lots of opportunities to plot good heart-stopping scares. Anytime I could I would jump from behind a door, sneak up behind someone, or just flat-out “BOO” someone in the dark... whatever it took.
You might be saying, “Bryan is just plain ol’ mean!”
YUP, I sure am.
In a past article, I told a quick story of how I used a central vacuum hose placed under my brother’s bed as a way to throw my voice and talk through it very deeply while he was sleeping. I said, “I am under your bed, if you get out, I will pull you under and eat you.”
Yes, my mom got all over my butt, however, I am sure she and my dad were laughing to tears when I left the room.
There were times that I would put a lot of thought into a good scare. Sometimes a good Halloween mask on my head was all it would take, especially when waking my brother or sister for school.
Once, and this is a good one that my mom still talks about today, I got my dad really good. We had just gotten home from a family get together. Dad was pulling up our driveway and letting everyone know to get their trash and personal belongings from the inside the van and to not leave empty-handed. It was late at night and everyone was really tired. When the van came to a stop, everyone was gathering their stuff. I had already gathered my things and asked to be let out. Mom opened the sliding door and I slid out.
I ran around the back of the van and climbed up the steel bumper, scaled the spare tire, and pulled myself up onto the roof. I quietly slid myself from the back of the van to just over the driver side door. I waited, and waited... and waited. Finally, my dad opened the door and began to step out. As he did, I grabbed his shoulder and neck and moaned real loud. I have never seen my father scream like a little girl, but that night he screamed like 100 little girls. I also realized how fast a grown man could run and cuss at a 12-year-old boy. My mom had to hide me for the rest of the night!
One Halloween I made a haunted house out of cardboard boxes from some furniture that my parents had just ordered. This haunted house had black lights, streamers and strobe lights and went down our sidewalk and up to our front door.
Each trick-or-treater had to walk through the cardboard contraption to get their candy. (Did I mention that I was hiding inside?)
A mother and her little monster started walking through my haunted house. The child was getting upset and the mom was saying, “Don’t worry, don’t worry.”
As they got about halfway in, I jumped out and roared. The mother screamed bloody murder, dropped her kid and ran. The child got up and ran quickly behind. Needless to say, they didn’t come back.
About a month ago, my four-year-old son got me good. He wasn’t even trying and that is what has me worried.
I was putting clothes away in my closet and backed up to grab another shirt to be hung from off the bed when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a three-foot figure looking up at me.
Ethan was supposed to be in bed. I jumped out of my socks and almost woke his little sister with my scream.
Ethan didn’t know what to do, mostly because he wasn’t trying to scare me. I saw a sheepish look on his face and a wry smile started to form below his little nose. He knew he had just done something great. He had just “GOT” Daddy!
Before I knew it, he was running off to tell Mommy that “ I scared Daddy real bad!” In the distance, I could hear sets of laughter and realized a crown was getting passed down to the next generation.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached lurking in a closet or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
My grandfather, on my Dad’s side, is the type of person who loves to play a joke or scare the life out of an unsuspecting person.
This might be where I get it from. I love to scare people. It doesn’t matter how old or how small they are. Scaring someone is such a classic way of making someone scream and someone else, usually the person doing the scaring, laugh and cry at the same time.
I just love it!
On the other hand, I will get so mad at someone who scares me. I hate it with a passion. I mean hate it.
I’m not sure what it is about scaring people that I love so much. I am sure a psychologist would have a chapter to show you about people like me. They could probably go on to tell you about all of the things that were missing in my life and how I try to get some form of fulfillment through making people feel weak and vulnerable.
Blah, blah, blah, blah. I’ll scare them too, if I get the chance!
With my brother and sister being younger than me, I had lots of opportunities to plot good heart-stopping scares. Anytime I could I would jump from behind a door, sneak up behind someone, or just flat-out “BOO” someone in the dark... whatever it took.
You might be saying, “Bryan is just plain ol’ mean!”
YUP, I sure am.
In a past article, I told a quick story of how I used a central vacuum hose placed under my brother’s bed as a way to throw my voice and talk through it very deeply while he was sleeping. I said, “I am under your bed, if you get out, I will pull you under and eat you.”
Yes, my mom got all over my butt, however, I am sure she and my dad were laughing to tears when I left the room.
There were times that I would put a lot of thought into a good scare. Sometimes a good Halloween mask on my head was all it would take, especially when waking my brother or sister for school.
Once, and this is a good one that my mom still talks about today, I got my dad really good. We had just gotten home from a family get together. Dad was pulling up our driveway and letting everyone know to get their trash and personal belongings from the inside the van and to not leave empty-handed. It was late at night and everyone was really tired. When the van came to a stop, everyone was gathering their stuff. I had already gathered my things and asked to be let out. Mom opened the sliding door and I slid out.
I ran around the back of the van and climbed up the steel bumper, scaled the spare tire, and pulled myself up onto the roof. I quietly slid myself from the back of the van to just over the driver side door. I waited, and waited... and waited. Finally, my dad opened the door and began to step out. As he did, I grabbed his shoulder and neck and moaned real loud. I have never seen my father scream like a little girl, but that night he screamed like 100 little girls. I also realized how fast a grown man could run and cuss at a 12-year-old boy. My mom had to hide me for the rest of the night!
One Halloween I made a haunted house out of cardboard boxes from some furniture that my parents had just ordered. This haunted house had black lights, streamers and strobe lights and went down our sidewalk and up to our front door.
Each trick-or-treater had to walk through the cardboard contraption to get their candy. (Did I mention that I was hiding inside?)
A mother and her little monster started walking through my haunted house. The child was getting upset and the mom was saying, “Don’t worry, don’t worry.”
As they got about halfway in, I jumped out and roared. The mother screamed bloody murder, dropped her kid and ran. The child got up and ran quickly behind. Needless to say, they didn’t come back.
About a month ago, my four-year-old son got me good. He wasn’t even trying and that is what has me worried.
I was putting clothes away in my closet and backed up to grab another shirt to be hung from off the bed when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a three-foot figure looking up at me.
Ethan was supposed to be in bed. I jumped out of my socks and almost woke his little sister with my scream.
Ethan didn’t know what to do, mostly because he wasn’t trying to scare me. I saw a sheepish look on his face and a wry smile started to form below his little nose. He knew he had just done something great. He had just “GOT” Daddy!
Before I knew it, he was running off to tell Mommy that “ I scared Daddy real bad!” In the distance, I could hear sets of laughter and realized a crown was getting passed down to the next generation.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached lurking in a closet or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
10-23-08
In a nation full of greed, who needs to buy a Thneed
Look, Lorax,” I said. “There’s no cause for alarm. I chopped just one tree. I am doing no harm. I’m being quite useful. This thing is a Thneed. A Thneeds a Fine-Something-That-All-People-Need!
The Lorax said, “Sir! You are crazy with greed. There is no one on earth who would buy that fool Thneed.”
But the very next minute I proved he was wrong. For, just at that minute, a chap came along, and he thought that the Thneed I had knitted was great. He happily bought it for three ninety-eight.
I rushed ’cross the room and in no time at all, built a radio-phone. I put in a quick call. I called all my brothers and uncles and aunts and I said, “Listen here! Here’s a wonderful chance for the whole Once-ler Family to get mighty rich. Get over here fast! Take the road to North Nitch.” — Dr. Seuse; The Lorax
What a great book and it’s current on so many levels: A story of selfish greed and getting rich without a care for anyone else’s suffering.
The Onceler stumbles onto a forest of Truffula trees. He chops down the trees to make his ‘Thneeds,’ By the time he chops down the last one, all of the Swomee-Swans, Bar-ba-loots, and Humming-Fish have been forced to leave. Their forest is gone and the Onceler is rich.
I was reading this book to my four-year-old son, Ethan, laying in his bed, propped up by pillows and him laying on my chest. While reading the book, I couldn’t help but think of how this children’s story relates to so many current events today.
The stock market is in disarray, homes are being foreclosed left and right and the oil companies are just getting stinking rich.
I am all for making money and I am all for getting stinking rich, but how do people live with themselves when they know they are possibly ruining other peoples lives?
Five years ago, my wife and I bought a house in a great little community outside of Washington, D.C. This house was out of our price range, but with an adjustable rate mortgage, we were able to buy above our budget. We knew that this ARM was not a good thing. In five years, this mortgage was going to explode with interest. Our plan was to sell in two years anyway, so we weren’t too concerned.
I drove by the old house about a month ago and it was up for sale. It was run down. The woman who bought it took the same kind of mortgage but it must have bit back.
All of those brokers, during the time of great rates, were doing tons of re-financing and “helping” underrated people get into their first home. Those same homeowners are now wondering where they are going to sleep tomorrow night. Meanwhile, the brokers’ pockets are fat with cash from all of the commission they earned. They knew what might and probably would happen, but money sometimes speaks louder than conscience.
It just hurts that everyone in America is having such a hard time getting by, barely making ends meet and having to supplement their incomes with the use of a credit card.
Even the Onceler would say this is bad. It’s a terrible thing when everyone’s been had.
Our pockets are empty, no money around. They expect us to sit and not make a sound.
Gather ’round people lets all fight this greed. American people don’t need a Thneed.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached looking for change in his couch or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
Look, Lorax,” I said. “There’s no cause for alarm. I chopped just one tree. I am doing no harm. I’m being quite useful. This thing is a Thneed. A Thneeds a Fine-Something-That-All-People-Need!
The Lorax said, “Sir! You are crazy with greed. There is no one on earth who would buy that fool Thneed.”
But the very next minute I proved he was wrong. For, just at that minute, a chap came along, and he thought that the Thneed I had knitted was great. He happily bought it for three ninety-eight.
I rushed ’cross the room and in no time at all, built a radio-phone. I put in a quick call. I called all my brothers and uncles and aunts and I said, “Listen here! Here’s a wonderful chance for the whole Once-ler Family to get mighty rich. Get over here fast! Take the road to North Nitch.” — Dr. Seuse; The Lorax
What a great book and it’s current on so many levels: A story of selfish greed and getting rich without a care for anyone else’s suffering.
The Onceler stumbles onto a forest of Truffula trees. He chops down the trees to make his ‘Thneeds,’ By the time he chops down the last one, all of the Swomee-Swans, Bar-ba-loots, and Humming-Fish have been forced to leave. Their forest is gone and the Onceler is rich.
I was reading this book to my four-year-old son, Ethan, laying in his bed, propped up by pillows and him laying on my chest. While reading the book, I couldn’t help but think of how this children’s story relates to so many current events today.
The stock market is in disarray, homes are being foreclosed left and right and the oil companies are just getting stinking rich.
I am all for making money and I am all for getting stinking rich, but how do people live with themselves when they know they are possibly ruining other peoples lives?
Five years ago, my wife and I bought a house in a great little community outside of Washington, D.C. This house was out of our price range, but with an adjustable rate mortgage, we were able to buy above our budget. We knew that this ARM was not a good thing. In five years, this mortgage was going to explode with interest. Our plan was to sell in two years anyway, so we weren’t too concerned.
I drove by the old house about a month ago and it was up for sale. It was run down. The woman who bought it took the same kind of mortgage but it must have bit back.
All of those brokers, during the time of great rates, were doing tons of re-financing and “helping” underrated people get into their first home. Those same homeowners are now wondering where they are going to sleep tomorrow night. Meanwhile, the brokers’ pockets are fat with cash from all of the commission they earned. They knew what might and probably would happen, but money sometimes speaks louder than conscience.
It just hurts that everyone in America is having such a hard time getting by, barely making ends meet and having to supplement their incomes with the use of a credit card.
Even the Onceler would say this is bad. It’s a terrible thing when everyone’s been had.
Our pockets are empty, no money around. They expect us to sit and not make a sound.
Gather ’round people lets all fight this greed. American people don’t need a Thneed.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached looking for change in his couch or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
10-2-08
Everyone should have their own personal Popeye
My mom’s father has sort of been a hero of mine throughout my life. I don’t know what he was like as a husband or a father, but as a grandfather he was a superhero.
My furthest memory is of him and my grandmother living in St. Mary’s County, Maryland. He did a little bit of farming with his blue Ford tractor. Their trailer was situated on a piece of property that helped keep the Patuxent River on its correct track out to the Chesapeake Bay. He had a small motor boat that we would go out fishing on and somehow I always caught all of the fish. There was a live well on the side of his dock that was always full of blue crabs. We would dip out a few dozen every once in awhile to steam for a Saturday afternoon feast. We love our crabs in Maryland.
Marvin Hayes was a finish carpenter by trade. He built the house that I grew up in. I always thought that it was just the coolest thing in the world. None of my other friends could say that their grandfather actually BUILT their house.
He is now 85 years young, skin like leather and thin as a rail. I always thought he looked like Popeye. Mostly because I thought he was so strong but the fact that he had a very pronounced chin helped quite a bit, also.
Not too long ago, Grandpa Hayes built another house for him and my grandmother, (Grandma Hayes). When my dad, brother and I built a large screened-in deck on my parent’s house, he was there swinging a hammer, climbing ladders and lifting beams. He worked us all ‘til the sweat and salt was bleaching our shirts.
Grandma’s health has been giving her trouble over the years. Grandpa has had to step in and do a lot of the work around their house. He cuts the grass with a push mower, does all of the upkeep inside and even cleans the bathrooms. Often he sits in his screened porch with a B-B gun and waits patently for the squirrels that pillage the fruit from his trees. (They live in Florida)
My mom and dad went to visit Grandapa for a few weeks when my mom found out that his doctor was sure that he had a small stroke. She found out when she was talking to him on the phone and his speech was slurred a bit.
“Dad, what’s wrong. You sound funny,” she asked.
“Oh, the doctor said that he thinks I had a stroke,” he told her. She wasn’t too happy that he was still working as hard as ever.
Anyhow, while they were visiting and my dad was helping good ol’ Marvin. He was up in the orange trees pulling fruit and climbing ladders to walk the roof and clean the gutters. He wore my dad out. Dad, at one point, said, “Marvin, why don’t we take a break and cool off.”
He replied, “Sure, go ahead if you need to.”
Marvin is a rather creative man. He always looked for something to do when he and my Grandmother would come up to visit. One time he had noticed that we had a problem in our yard with moles. Grandpa told Dad that he could take care of it if wanted him to.
“Sure, what do you need?”
Grandpa told him, “ A shovel and a beer.” Dad fetched the items and stood back and watched. Grandpa drove the shovel into the ground, rested his forearm on the top of the handle and opened his beer and took a sip. My Dad asked what he was going to do.
“When I see them move through their tunnel, I’m going quickly flip them up and kill them with the shovel.”
Dad asked, “Well, what’s the beer for then?”
“To drink,” Grandpa said without missing a beat.
I don’t see my grandparents as much as I would like to, but I do have great memories of working in the yard with him, riding on his tractor, fishing from his boat, and sipping the “poison” off of the top of his Milwaukee’s Best. I sure hope that my son will have time to get to know him.
I sure hope that I can be the Popeye to my son that Grandpa Hayes is to me.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
My mom’s father has sort of been a hero of mine throughout my life. I don’t know what he was like as a husband or a father, but as a grandfather he was a superhero.
My furthest memory is of him and my grandmother living in St. Mary’s County, Maryland. He did a little bit of farming with his blue Ford tractor. Their trailer was situated on a piece of property that helped keep the Patuxent River on its correct track out to the Chesapeake Bay. He had a small motor boat that we would go out fishing on and somehow I always caught all of the fish. There was a live well on the side of his dock that was always full of blue crabs. We would dip out a few dozen every once in awhile to steam for a Saturday afternoon feast. We love our crabs in Maryland.
Marvin Hayes was a finish carpenter by trade. He built the house that I grew up in. I always thought that it was just the coolest thing in the world. None of my other friends could say that their grandfather actually BUILT their house.
He is now 85 years young, skin like leather and thin as a rail. I always thought he looked like Popeye. Mostly because I thought he was so strong but the fact that he had a very pronounced chin helped quite a bit, also.
Not too long ago, Grandpa Hayes built another house for him and my grandmother, (Grandma Hayes). When my dad, brother and I built a large screened-in deck on my parent’s house, he was there swinging a hammer, climbing ladders and lifting beams. He worked us all ‘til the sweat and salt was bleaching our shirts.
Grandma’s health has been giving her trouble over the years. Grandpa has had to step in and do a lot of the work around their house. He cuts the grass with a push mower, does all of the upkeep inside and even cleans the bathrooms. Often he sits in his screened porch with a B-B gun and waits patently for the squirrels that pillage the fruit from his trees. (They live in Florida)
My mom and dad went to visit Grandapa for a few weeks when my mom found out that his doctor was sure that he had a small stroke. She found out when she was talking to him on the phone and his speech was slurred a bit.
“Dad, what’s wrong. You sound funny,” she asked.
“Oh, the doctor said that he thinks I had a stroke,” he told her. She wasn’t too happy that he was still working as hard as ever.
Anyhow, while they were visiting and my dad was helping good ol’ Marvin. He was up in the orange trees pulling fruit and climbing ladders to walk the roof and clean the gutters. He wore my dad out. Dad, at one point, said, “Marvin, why don’t we take a break and cool off.”
He replied, “Sure, go ahead if you need to.”
Marvin is a rather creative man. He always looked for something to do when he and my Grandmother would come up to visit. One time he had noticed that we had a problem in our yard with moles. Grandpa told Dad that he could take care of it if wanted him to.
“Sure, what do you need?”
Grandpa told him, “ A shovel and a beer.” Dad fetched the items and stood back and watched. Grandpa drove the shovel into the ground, rested his forearm on the top of the handle and opened his beer and took a sip. My Dad asked what he was going to do.
“When I see them move through their tunnel, I’m going quickly flip them up and kill them with the shovel.”
Dad asked, “Well, what’s the beer for then?”
“To drink,” Grandpa said without missing a beat.
I don’t see my grandparents as much as I would like to, but I do have great memories of working in the yard with him, riding on his tractor, fishing from his boat, and sipping the “poison” off of the top of his Milwaukee’s Best. I sure hope that my son will have time to get to know him.
I sure hope that I can be the Popeye to my son that Grandpa Hayes is to me.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
9-25-08
A trusty tool is a hard thing to let go of
There are all kinds of tool men out there. Some live and die by Craftsmen. Some men won’t buy anything but DeWalt. Most pros love Milwaukee or Porter-Cable. Me, I’m a Jeep man.
The Jeep is like the Swiss Army Knife of the vehicle world. There have been so many chores accomplished over the years with the aid of my Jeep. I have pulled stumps out of the ground, dragged dead trees out of the woods, pulled cars out of ditches and snowbanks and even navigated sandbars in the Inner Coastal Waterway, all with my trusty Jeep.
I have had Jeeps since I started to drive. When I was about 17 my dad started buying Jeeps. The first one was just for fun. We had never had a four-wheel-drive vehicle in the family and didn’t know what they were capable of.
One fall, Dad and I decided to go on a Jeep Jamboree that was held in Tennessee. This is when Jeep owners converge on a sleepy little town usually in the foothills of the mountains. Trips are guided through trails that range in real easy drives to hard core your-Jeep-will-get-messed-up. We put a small set of mud tires on the brown ‘88 Wrangler and that was it. We had no idea what to expect on the trip and I don’t know if we had even been four-wheeling yet. The first day of rock climbing and river crossings sold us. I had no idea that any truck could go through the things that the Jeep took us through. We saw people pulling others out of deep mud holes and even using their Jeeps to upright other overturned Jeeps. At one point I even heated my lunch on a piece of tinfoil on the top of the engine block.
The Jeep had left our house a recreational vehicle and came back an incredibly versatile family tool.
We started using the Jeep to clear the woods in the fall, cleaning up fallen tree limbs and dragging dead trees all into a pile for a bonfire. In the winter when it snowed, we would park at the bottom of a steep hill that, when icy, prevented cars from making it up. The cars would slide back down like a child trying to run up a large metal slide with sandy shoes. With a snatch line and a few cups of coffee, we would sit out all night and pull people up the hill. In the summer time I loved taking it to Ocean City, Maryland and cruise the strip with the doors and top off. It was a tool to try to pick up girls. It never worked for me, though.
To this day I don’t think that we have not had one or two Jeeps in the family at any given time. I bought my first Jeep when I moved to Boston. This was an event for me. I officially owned my own. I bought an ‘87 Cherokee. It needed a tune up and the headliner was falling down, which doubled as a blanket in the winter. This Jeep was going to be the first one to be heavily modified. I jacked that old Cherokee up in the air and stuffed the biggest set of B.F. Goodrich mud tires under the fenders that I could. A new long travel drive line was added and a bunch of spray glue and thumbtacks put the headliner back in place.
When I was done, I had turned the tired old “grocery ‘getter” into one heck of a trail ready, rock crawler. I could get two and a half feet of wheel travel when the sway bar was disconnected!
Now here is where the story gets good. I took it to Boston. Talk about country coming to the city.
I landed a job with one of the top restaurant design firms in the nation. Very high class design and high class clientèle. I loved marching that monster to job sites and meetings. One day I had to take a very proper and well dressed female co-worker to a job site meeting with me. I had to help her into the truck. To my surprise, she enjoyed the trip. I remember one night my wife and I had to go to a party for one of my restaurant openings. We drove the Jeep. After the party, my boss took our group out for a real late night dinner and then dropped us off at our cars. I told him to “drop me off at that big Jeep.” He laughed and passed it. I said, “No really, that’s my truck.” I don’t know if he was embarrassed at laughing about it in the first place or didn’t want to be seen next to it. Either way, I enjoyed being the redneck in Boston.
Today I own two Jeeps: A ‘91 Wrangler that is beat up, houses a few spiders, is about to lose its muffler, but runs great. I also have a 2001 Grand Cherokee that I am waiting for Leigh to tell me is old enough to turn into an off road truck.
I have been recently wanting a pick-up and have thought about getting rid of the old Wrangler. I feel naked every time I think about it. There is so much I use it for around the farm. Just about every weekend I find myself using it to aid in some sort of chore. There are trees that need to be pulled out of the woods, lawn tractors to be pulled out of ditches and how would I get to my favorite fishing spot in a Ford Taurus? If I got rid of it, I would end up having to buy another one when my son is old enough to pick up girls. He will need tools, too.
I think I will just keep it. I don’t know too many men that would roll their ball-bearing glided, 14 drawer, professional series toolbox out to the roadside and put a “For Sale” sign on it.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
There are all kinds of tool men out there. Some live and die by Craftsmen. Some men won’t buy anything but DeWalt. Most pros love Milwaukee or Porter-Cable. Me, I’m a Jeep man.
The Jeep is like the Swiss Army Knife of the vehicle world. There have been so many chores accomplished over the years with the aid of my Jeep. I have pulled stumps out of the ground, dragged dead trees out of the woods, pulled cars out of ditches and snowbanks and even navigated sandbars in the Inner Coastal Waterway, all with my trusty Jeep.
I have had Jeeps since I started to drive. When I was about 17 my dad started buying Jeeps. The first one was just for fun. We had never had a four-wheel-drive vehicle in the family and didn’t know what they were capable of.
One fall, Dad and I decided to go on a Jeep Jamboree that was held in Tennessee. This is when Jeep owners converge on a sleepy little town usually in the foothills of the mountains. Trips are guided through trails that range in real easy drives to hard core your-Jeep-will-get-messed-up. We put a small set of mud tires on the brown ‘88 Wrangler and that was it. We had no idea what to expect on the trip and I don’t know if we had even been four-wheeling yet. The first day of rock climbing and river crossings sold us. I had no idea that any truck could go through the things that the Jeep took us through. We saw people pulling others out of deep mud holes and even using their Jeeps to upright other overturned Jeeps. At one point I even heated my lunch on a piece of tinfoil on the top of the engine block.
The Jeep had left our house a recreational vehicle and came back an incredibly versatile family tool.
We started using the Jeep to clear the woods in the fall, cleaning up fallen tree limbs and dragging dead trees all into a pile for a bonfire. In the winter when it snowed, we would park at the bottom of a steep hill that, when icy, prevented cars from making it up. The cars would slide back down like a child trying to run up a large metal slide with sandy shoes. With a snatch line and a few cups of coffee, we would sit out all night and pull people up the hill. In the summer time I loved taking it to Ocean City, Maryland and cruise the strip with the doors and top off. It was a tool to try to pick up girls. It never worked for me, though.
To this day I don’t think that we have not had one or two Jeeps in the family at any given time. I bought my first Jeep when I moved to Boston. This was an event for me. I officially owned my own. I bought an ‘87 Cherokee. It needed a tune up and the headliner was falling down, which doubled as a blanket in the winter. This Jeep was going to be the first one to be heavily modified. I jacked that old Cherokee up in the air and stuffed the biggest set of B.F. Goodrich mud tires under the fenders that I could. A new long travel drive line was added and a bunch of spray glue and thumbtacks put the headliner back in place.
When I was done, I had turned the tired old “grocery ‘getter” into one heck of a trail ready, rock crawler. I could get two and a half feet of wheel travel when the sway bar was disconnected!
Now here is where the story gets good. I took it to Boston. Talk about country coming to the city.
I landed a job with one of the top restaurant design firms in the nation. Very high class design and high class clientèle. I loved marching that monster to job sites and meetings. One day I had to take a very proper and well dressed female co-worker to a job site meeting with me. I had to help her into the truck. To my surprise, she enjoyed the trip. I remember one night my wife and I had to go to a party for one of my restaurant openings. We drove the Jeep. After the party, my boss took our group out for a real late night dinner and then dropped us off at our cars. I told him to “drop me off at that big Jeep.” He laughed and passed it. I said, “No really, that’s my truck.” I don’t know if he was embarrassed at laughing about it in the first place or didn’t want to be seen next to it. Either way, I enjoyed being the redneck in Boston.
Today I own two Jeeps: A ‘91 Wrangler that is beat up, houses a few spiders, is about to lose its muffler, but runs great. I also have a 2001 Grand Cherokee that I am waiting for Leigh to tell me is old enough to turn into an off road truck.
I have been recently wanting a pick-up and have thought about getting rid of the old Wrangler. I feel naked every time I think about it. There is so much I use it for around the farm. Just about every weekend I find myself using it to aid in some sort of chore. There are trees that need to be pulled out of the woods, lawn tractors to be pulled out of ditches and how would I get to my favorite fishing spot in a Ford Taurus? If I got rid of it, I would end up having to buy another one when my son is old enough to pick up girls. He will need tools, too.
I think I will just keep it. I don’t know too many men that would roll their ball-bearing glided, 14 drawer, professional series toolbox out to the roadside and put a “For Sale” sign on it.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
9-18-08
Taking a road trip doesn’t mean driving to Wal-Mart
When I was around the age of five, my father would pack up his metalflake blue Honda 750 with the necessary gear to keep a grown man and his son content for the day and we would hit the road.
These day trips were great. My dad would sit me on the seat between him and the gas tank. I held on to the middle of the buck horn handle bars while my dad worked the gas and clutch at the end of the bars. When we got to an intersection he would ask, “Which way?” After a second or two of some serious five year old thinking, I would answer, “THAT WAY!”
The day was ours. At every intersection he would ask the question. I was controlling our destiny. No one knew where we were and we didn’t know what was around the next corner. We were two men on a serious road trip!
I am amazed at how many people have not traveled beyond their state line. Not just here in North Carolina, but everywhere that I have lived. There is always a hand full of people that have never enjoyed the excitement of being in a strange place and not knowing a soul. I am not talking about going to Wal-Mart in the next town. I am talking about packing up the car and driving for a few days to somewhere different.
In my opinion, the adventure of a trip is the time between leaving your house and reaching your destination—if there is a destination. I haven’t done a lot of traveling in my short lifetime but the trips that I have done have got some great stories attached to them.
At the ripe old age of twenty-four, I knew everything there was to know about living. There were a few friends of mine that decided to move to Arizona. Wow. Talk about throwing caution into the wind. They did it. They “packed their trash” and headed out west. I couldn’t be left out. A few months after they left, I got the itch. A ’78 Cadillac Coupe DeVille was purchased, trash packed, a kiss good bye to my mother and I was off.
It took me two and a half days to get to Mesa, Arizona. Between Maryland and Arizona, a lifetime of adventure was had.
I ate some of the best roadside diner food and bought some of the best stickers and magnets shaped into the state that I just crossed.
I sat on the hood of my Caddy outside of New Mexico and ate cheeseburgers while watching an incredible sunset. I saw the dirtiest hotel I had ever seen but slept there anyway because “there isn’t another hotel for another 212 miles.” You might also want to fill up while you are here” Can you say “Norman Bates?”
A book could be written about my trip to and from Arizona.
I have lived in Virginia, Maryland, Massachusetts, Florida, Arizona and Ohio, and now North Carolina. I have traveled across the country four times and countless times between Florida and New Hampshire.
I am not the poster child for travel, however. A trip to Tijuana is the furthest I have traveled outside of the country, and I have a great sombrero to show for it. This was some time ago but I do remember sitting in my parents green ’76 Ford van while we waited in a massive line to cross the U.S.A. / Mexico border. There were people selling everything from hats and ponchos to Coca-Cola and fireworks. I am sure there was a lot more to be bought on that roadside but I was only seven at the time. I will never forget it.
Don’t get me wrong. Wanting to be at home is a natural feeling. We all love our home and there is nothing like it. Home is safe.
However, there is a world around us with tons and tons of adventure, new things to see and all kinds of culture to take in. Your town is your home and I know that is where it is comfortable to be. This country is your home also and it should be traveled so it too will feel comfortable.
Times are tough right now for all of us. Gas is high and money is tight. Sometimes it actually takes some savings and planning just to get to the Wal-Mart up the street.
With that said, if the opportunity arrives, take that trip. It doesn’t have to be across the country or up the Eastern Sea Board. Simply find a destination close by that might require a night’s stay in a hotel. Pack up the Family Truckster and go.
Drive somewhere and come back a different route. The end story will be worth it in the end, if not now, perhaps later when someone says, “Have you ever been to ____” and you can say, “Yes, and let me tell you about what happened on our way there.”
Bryan Pinkey can be reached in the middle of nowhere or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
When I was around the age of five, my father would pack up his metalflake blue Honda 750 with the necessary gear to keep a grown man and his son content for the day and we would hit the road.
These day trips were great. My dad would sit me on the seat between him and the gas tank. I held on to the middle of the buck horn handle bars while my dad worked the gas and clutch at the end of the bars. When we got to an intersection he would ask, “Which way?” After a second or two of some serious five year old thinking, I would answer, “THAT WAY!”
The day was ours. At every intersection he would ask the question. I was controlling our destiny. No one knew where we were and we didn’t know what was around the next corner. We were two men on a serious road trip!
I am amazed at how many people have not traveled beyond their state line. Not just here in North Carolina, but everywhere that I have lived. There is always a hand full of people that have never enjoyed the excitement of being in a strange place and not knowing a soul. I am not talking about going to Wal-Mart in the next town. I am talking about packing up the car and driving for a few days to somewhere different.
In my opinion, the adventure of a trip is the time between leaving your house and reaching your destination—if there is a destination. I haven’t done a lot of traveling in my short lifetime but the trips that I have done have got some great stories attached to them.
At the ripe old age of twenty-four, I knew everything there was to know about living. There were a few friends of mine that decided to move to Arizona. Wow. Talk about throwing caution into the wind. They did it. They “packed their trash” and headed out west. I couldn’t be left out. A few months after they left, I got the itch. A ’78 Cadillac Coupe DeVille was purchased, trash packed, a kiss good bye to my mother and I was off.
It took me two and a half days to get to Mesa, Arizona. Between Maryland and Arizona, a lifetime of adventure was had.
I ate some of the best roadside diner food and bought some of the best stickers and magnets shaped into the state that I just crossed.
I sat on the hood of my Caddy outside of New Mexico and ate cheeseburgers while watching an incredible sunset. I saw the dirtiest hotel I had ever seen but slept there anyway because “there isn’t another hotel for another 212 miles.” You might also want to fill up while you are here” Can you say “Norman Bates?”
A book could be written about my trip to and from Arizona.
I have lived in Virginia, Maryland, Massachusetts, Florida, Arizona and Ohio, and now North Carolina. I have traveled across the country four times and countless times between Florida and New Hampshire.
I am not the poster child for travel, however. A trip to Tijuana is the furthest I have traveled outside of the country, and I have a great sombrero to show for it. This was some time ago but I do remember sitting in my parents green ’76 Ford van while we waited in a massive line to cross the U.S.A. / Mexico border. There were people selling everything from hats and ponchos to Coca-Cola and fireworks. I am sure there was a lot more to be bought on that roadside but I was only seven at the time. I will never forget it.
Don’t get me wrong. Wanting to be at home is a natural feeling. We all love our home and there is nothing like it. Home is safe.
However, there is a world around us with tons and tons of adventure, new things to see and all kinds of culture to take in. Your town is your home and I know that is where it is comfortable to be. This country is your home also and it should be traveled so it too will feel comfortable.
Times are tough right now for all of us. Gas is high and money is tight. Sometimes it actually takes some savings and planning just to get to the Wal-Mart up the street.
With that said, if the opportunity arrives, take that trip. It doesn’t have to be across the country or up the Eastern Sea Board. Simply find a destination close by that might require a night’s stay in a hotel. Pack up the Family Truckster and go.
Drive somewhere and come back a different route. The end story will be worth it in the end, if not now, perhaps later when someone says, “Have you ever been to ____” and you can say, “Yes, and let me tell you about what happened on our way there.”
Bryan Pinkey can be reached in the middle of nowhere or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
9-11-08
Children are ungrateful but we unconditionally love them anyway
What an ordeal. They don’t even know how much work goes into making it happen and they don’t even say thank you.
My wife and I just finished doing a very small birthday party for my daughter who just reached the milestone birthday of one year old. We worked all day to clean the house, make a cake, cut the grass and make sure that everything was in some sort of order in the house. Baby Girl didn’t once ask if she could lend a hand. All she did was fuss and cry for food.
We are not the best at being parents. No one gave us any instruction on how to do this. We both went from living high on the hog in Boston to being two adults held hostage in our own home in North Carolina. How did THAT happen. I remember the day that Leigh and I said that we were ready for a child. Where was the guy with the whistle and yellow flag on that day!
I can hear the general public right now. “Quit ‘yer ... complaining”.
I do complain and anyone that knows me will agree. However, I wouldn’t change a thing. I love my kids and I find myself smiling when I look at their pictures at my desk here at work and not just because they are at day care instead of under my feet.
This birthday party for Nash was just to be the grandparents and family that live close by. Really this would be a simple party to pull off. I could have forgone the grass cutting because I don’t have to impress family, but I did it anyway with the help of my mother and father-in-law.
A trip to the dump in the morning was needed and a run to the gas station was next in order to get the yard looking half-way decent. Leigh was busy making a cake and keeping Ethan and Nash busy at the same time. I had the easy job, although when I walked back in and saw everyone with chocolate around their mouths, I wasn’t sure that I got left out of something fun. We got the bathrooms cleaned, the carpet vacuumed and tried to find enough chairs for all the guests to sit on.
The children were running around crazy pulling everything out that we just put up and I could feel a few more gray hairs popping through my scalp every other minute. Two hours to go and there were more toys out than when we started. Calgon, take me away!
At two-o’clock everyone started to arrive. Somehow everything was at a semi-point of completion. Everyone visited for about an hour and watched the kids jump on the sofa in between their regular trips to the ever intriguing stairs.
We have a big staircase that kids just seem to want to look at. Watching them reminds me of when I lived in Arizona and went to the Grand Canyon. I would walk as close to the edge as I could and back off right before I felt the urge to lose my breakfast. Maybe that is what the kids are doing.
At about three, the cake was pulled out and everyone gathered around the table to take pictures of the one year old that was shoving cake and ice cream into her face like it was going out of style. Nash was having a blast and the other kids thought it was great to see her make such a mess and cover the floor in everything that didn’t make it into her mouth.
Presents were handed out after the kids were cleaned up. I forgot how much kids love opening presents, especially when it isn’t their birthday. There was tissue paper flying and cards getting tossed behind the kids left and right. Who cares about the cards.
Leigh somehow accounted for all of the presents and figured out who gave what so that thank you cards could be sent out later. Women are great at that. If it was up to me, I would just open a window and yell out “Thank you” and hope you were listening.
The temperature in the house had risen by four degrees. I had to take a seat. I was sitting in my favorite chair and semi-hiding from further clean up duties as I watched the children play with the boxes that the toys came in and my daughter chew on tissue paper. Have you noticed how quick that stuff changes the color of a kids mouth?!
Everyone was having conversations and I just watched the family visit and have fun. The kids were having fun, the parents were having fun and I quickly remembered what the ordeal was all about.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
What an ordeal. They don’t even know how much work goes into making it happen and they don’t even say thank you.
My wife and I just finished doing a very small birthday party for my daughter who just reached the milestone birthday of one year old. We worked all day to clean the house, make a cake, cut the grass and make sure that everything was in some sort of order in the house. Baby Girl didn’t once ask if she could lend a hand. All she did was fuss and cry for food.
We are not the best at being parents. No one gave us any instruction on how to do this. We both went from living high on the hog in Boston to being two adults held hostage in our own home in North Carolina. How did THAT happen. I remember the day that Leigh and I said that we were ready for a child. Where was the guy with the whistle and yellow flag on that day!
I can hear the general public right now. “Quit ‘yer ... complaining”.
I do complain and anyone that knows me will agree. However, I wouldn’t change a thing. I love my kids and I find myself smiling when I look at their pictures at my desk here at work and not just because they are at day care instead of under my feet.
This birthday party for Nash was just to be the grandparents and family that live close by. Really this would be a simple party to pull off. I could have forgone the grass cutting because I don’t have to impress family, but I did it anyway with the help of my mother and father-in-law.
A trip to the dump in the morning was needed and a run to the gas station was next in order to get the yard looking half-way decent. Leigh was busy making a cake and keeping Ethan and Nash busy at the same time. I had the easy job, although when I walked back in and saw everyone with chocolate around their mouths, I wasn’t sure that I got left out of something fun. We got the bathrooms cleaned, the carpet vacuumed and tried to find enough chairs for all the guests to sit on.
The children were running around crazy pulling everything out that we just put up and I could feel a few more gray hairs popping through my scalp every other minute. Two hours to go and there were more toys out than when we started. Calgon, take me away!
At two-o’clock everyone started to arrive. Somehow everything was at a semi-point of completion. Everyone visited for about an hour and watched the kids jump on the sofa in between their regular trips to the ever intriguing stairs.
We have a big staircase that kids just seem to want to look at. Watching them reminds me of when I lived in Arizona and went to the Grand Canyon. I would walk as close to the edge as I could and back off right before I felt the urge to lose my breakfast. Maybe that is what the kids are doing.
At about three, the cake was pulled out and everyone gathered around the table to take pictures of the one year old that was shoving cake and ice cream into her face like it was going out of style. Nash was having a blast and the other kids thought it was great to see her make such a mess and cover the floor in everything that didn’t make it into her mouth.
Presents were handed out after the kids were cleaned up. I forgot how much kids love opening presents, especially when it isn’t their birthday. There was tissue paper flying and cards getting tossed behind the kids left and right. Who cares about the cards.
Leigh somehow accounted for all of the presents and figured out who gave what so that thank you cards could be sent out later. Women are great at that. If it was up to me, I would just open a window and yell out “Thank you” and hope you were listening.
The temperature in the house had risen by four degrees. I had to take a seat. I was sitting in my favorite chair and semi-hiding from further clean up duties as I watched the children play with the boxes that the toys came in and my daughter chew on tissue paper. Have you noticed how quick that stuff changes the color of a kids mouth?!
Everyone was having conversations and I just watched the family visit and have fun. The kids were having fun, the parents were having fun and I quickly remembered what the ordeal was all about.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
9-4-08
Cool weather bonfires, a Pinkey tradition that lives on in N.C.
When I was around the age of 12 or so, my dad and I used to burn a lot of dead brush from our woods during the fall and into the winter months. The memories I have of those brisk weekends have stayed with me to this day.
For me, I think, the weekend bonfire was a rite of passage into the beginning stages of adulthood. I remember feeling like a true adult when I was allowed to do some of the things that were normally left to those with more experience.
I found myself carrying an ax, lighting matches and wearing my own knife on my hip. Eventually lighting the fire was handed down to me. I was even able to work the chain saw, drive the Jeep through the woods and if I got hurt while working I could even swear! Life was good.
My father always wanted to set a good example and tried really hard to teach us (my brother, sister and me) how to do things correctly and safely.
One thing he always tried to teach us was how to handle fire. When lighting the bonfire, we always had to make sure that nothing else sitting around the fire would catch and we would have to use a starter log or a bunch of newspaper to get the pile going. Now we all knew that there was a better way to start a fire but it wasn’t the safest and it wasn’t what a father should teach a 12 year old: GAS.
Throw a couple coffee cans full of gas on that pile of wood and WHOOSH! It would be roaring. But no, we had to dance around the pink elephant in the woods.
One Saturday morning I was sleeping in. I know that I wasn’t tired from running the roads on Friday night because I was only twelve or thirteen so maybe I had stayed up late eating Pixi-Stix or something, but either way I was sleeping in.
BOOOOOM !
The windows in my bedroom were shaking, everyone in the house was jolted out of bed and hearts were racing. I heard my mom running down the steps and I ran to my bedroom window. I knew what was going on. Throwing on my jeans, boots and a flannel, I ran out to the woods. Dad finally used gas. The weekend was on!
To this day, the bonfire is something that somehow brings my immediate family together. We don’t get to do them as often as we used to but when we can, it is an event, and oh, yes, we use gas. Lots of gas.
Mom and Dad have sold the house that we grew up in and I am now the only one with property enough to have a large fire. I guess you could say the torch has been passed down to me. I am now the keeper of the flame.
We try to have a big fire around Thanksgiving. Family and friends converge on the Pinkey Compound over the course of a long weekend. Friends and family come down from Maryland. My brother and his girlfriend come down from Philly. Mom and Dad come from Sneads Ferry and Dad always gets on my brother and me for using too much gas. “You’re gonna’ burn the woods down.”
We drag a TV out to the carport to watch football games. Four wheelers are usually around for the kids, although the adults end up taking over later on into the day. We have a great time and I have never heard anyone say “I’m bored.”
No one is thinking about their cell phones and the children don’t even know what an X-Box is for the entire day. Just us and the fire.
By the time the sun has set we have cleaned out the woods, brought out the hot dogs and found our spot on a log by the fire for the night. Everything in the Universe is now at peace and I feel like a 12 year old adult once again.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at a bonfire near you or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
When I was around the age of 12 or so, my dad and I used to burn a lot of dead brush from our woods during the fall and into the winter months. The memories I have of those brisk weekends have stayed with me to this day.
For me, I think, the weekend bonfire was a rite of passage into the beginning stages of adulthood. I remember feeling like a true adult when I was allowed to do some of the things that were normally left to those with more experience.
I found myself carrying an ax, lighting matches and wearing my own knife on my hip. Eventually lighting the fire was handed down to me. I was even able to work the chain saw, drive the Jeep through the woods and if I got hurt while working I could even swear! Life was good.
My father always wanted to set a good example and tried really hard to teach us (my brother, sister and me) how to do things correctly and safely.
One thing he always tried to teach us was how to handle fire. When lighting the bonfire, we always had to make sure that nothing else sitting around the fire would catch and we would have to use a starter log or a bunch of newspaper to get the pile going. Now we all knew that there was a better way to start a fire but it wasn’t the safest and it wasn’t what a father should teach a 12 year old: GAS.
Throw a couple coffee cans full of gas on that pile of wood and WHOOSH! It would be roaring. But no, we had to dance around the pink elephant in the woods.
One Saturday morning I was sleeping in. I know that I wasn’t tired from running the roads on Friday night because I was only twelve or thirteen so maybe I had stayed up late eating Pixi-Stix or something, but either way I was sleeping in.
BOOOOOM !
The windows in my bedroom were shaking, everyone in the house was jolted out of bed and hearts were racing. I heard my mom running down the steps and I ran to my bedroom window. I knew what was going on. Throwing on my jeans, boots and a flannel, I ran out to the woods. Dad finally used gas. The weekend was on!
To this day, the bonfire is something that somehow brings my immediate family together. We don’t get to do them as often as we used to but when we can, it is an event, and oh, yes, we use gas. Lots of gas.
Mom and Dad have sold the house that we grew up in and I am now the only one with property enough to have a large fire. I guess you could say the torch has been passed down to me. I am now the keeper of the flame.
We try to have a big fire around Thanksgiving. Family and friends converge on the Pinkey Compound over the course of a long weekend. Friends and family come down from Maryland. My brother and his girlfriend come down from Philly. Mom and Dad come from Sneads Ferry and Dad always gets on my brother and me for using too much gas. “You’re gonna’ burn the woods down.”
We drag a TV out to the carport to watch football games. Four wheelers are usually around for the kids, although the adults end up taking over later on into the day. We have a great time and I have never heard anyone say “I’m bored.”
No one is thinking about their cell phones and the children don’t even know what an X-Box is for the entire day. Just us and the fire.
By the time the sun has set we have cleaned out the woods, brought out the hot dogs and found our spot on a log by the fire for the night. Everything in the Universe is now at peace and I feel like a 12 year old adult once again.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at a bonfire near you or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
8-28-08 part II
Friends, rowdiness, and a campsite: lend me your gear
Two and a half days vacation time, $315.00 in supplies and gas, 22 hours on the road, spending a weekend white water rafting with old high school friends. Priceless.
Last week, I started to tell you about my friend Steve who is getting married. A group of us decided to go camping for the bachelor party instead of doing the usual night of bar hopping and strip clubs. Somehow I have made it back and in somewhat one piece.
We all met in a fitting place, the old carriage house where we spent all of our time as kids. Steve’s brother Mike has converted the old party house into a very nicely renovated house for him and his wife.
Friday morning we left at around 7:30 after loading up—five hours of driving ahead of us. The drive was uneventful mostly because everyone was taking turns sleeping in any of the free space we could find in the trucks. By around 1 p.m., we made it to Rivermen, the company that was running our tour.
We were going to be on a section of the New River that runs through Fayetteville, West Virginia. It was a beautiful part of the country. It just smelled clean. This was probably due to the fact that they don’t have turkey and hog farms, no offense to anyone. It was pretty much like being in Asheville or Boone.
Before the trailer was unloaded, the cooler was found and unloaded first. This would pretty much set the pace for the rest of the weekend. Like a bunch of hibernating animals, we all searched for a prime spot for our tents. The grill was set, the food brought out, a horseshoe pit was made and a spot in the woods was designated as the “bathroom.” Friday was set aside for travel, camp set up and catching up with everyone. We did so and crammed a lot of lost time in very short number of hours.
Saturday morning came very fast. I don’t know who brought the clock, I don’t know where the outlet was, but somehow someone knew that it was time to get moving at around 7:00 a.m. We were all very tired and not really ready to fight rapids all day—some of us a lot less ready than others. We ate, made it to the short class about the trip and signed our lives away on the waivers that were required for us to go on the trip.
Our group divided into smaller groups and paired up with our river guides. Thank the lord they didn’t send us out on our own. Julia Schneider was our guide, a quick-witted young lady that somehow kept us all in line.
Julia was also from Maryland so that made her OK in my book. She made her money that day. Julia got us started and prepared us for the first rapid—a fast moving class III. I have never been rafting and had no idea what a class III meant, but I knew that I shouldn’t be there when she said “...and if anyone falls out, stay on your back and get back in the boat as soon as you can. The hydraulics will pull you under.”
Our raft came up to the rapid and everyone’s hearts were pounding. Julia yelled out the command to paddle forward and with the power of fear and adrenaline, we paddled like no tomorrow. Rocks were smacking the raft around and you could feel them changing the contour of the bottom of the raft.
A rock smacked us around and flexed the raft and sent John right out of the boat. John was in no shape to be on the raft because of the night before. We made it through the rest of the rapid and pulled John back into the boat. Julia now had our attention for the rest of the trip!
I asked Julia how high the class rating went for the section of the river that we were traveling for the day. She informed us that by the time we were done we would go through all ratings up to a class VI.
The day went on about the same as the first rapid and the fear slowly turned to excitement as we knocked out a few more. Our trip snaked through the bottom of a deep gorge and large boulders littered the sides of the river.
In a few areas the water was 30 feet deep and very slow moving. In these areas Julia let us jump into the river and float with our life vest. Some areas we floated flat with our toes pointed to the sky and slid over some slow moving rapids. The first one hurt but I quickly learned to put my hands under my backside so that the rocks didn’t crack my tailbone. They should warn people about that!
The last rapid of the day was the highly anticipated class VI. Julia told us that we had to absolutely pay attention and act fast when she told us to “paddle left” or “paddle right.” We took a brief pause in the calm of the river right before the rapid. She told us strap down anything loose, get a secure footing and to remember to act quick.
“Forward” Julia commanded. Like Vikings going to battle, we dug in and rowed. I can’t even begin to tell you how much water came into the boat and how many rocks have layers of our raft still on them, but it was tough. Our raft got to the end and one drop was ahead of us.
We plunged, took on water and were knocked hard. Steve was not in the boat anymore. We were moving fast and out of the corner of my eye I saw his foot sticking out of the water. He was getting pulled down. I quickly grabbed for him but lost my grip. I think it was enough to get him upright. His head came out of the water and Julia quickly extended her paddle and Steve grabbed on.
She single-handedly got him from the rapid and pulled him back in. If her parents could have seen her at work, they would have been proud and impressed. I was.
We made it out and everyone was cheering. The rapids were done and from here on out we floated down the river and jumped in and out of the boat and just cut up for the last 45 minutes of the trip.
A bus picked us up and got us back to camp where we quickly showered and ate a good meal. All of the guys got back together after dinner and hung out at the lodge. There was a great bluegrass band and free games of pool. We all finished our night there trading stories and recapping the days adventure.
Now, spending that much money on a vacation just for myself and leaving my family behind made me feel a little bit guilty. Did I also mention that one of the days was my wife’s birthday. She’s a trooper, Leigh understood the importance of the trip and wanted me to go. There were a lot of hoops to jump through to make this trip happen from the planning to making it home but I wouldn’t have changed a thing. There is nothing like good friends that stick with you for life. The experience was so much fun that some of us were talking about trying to make this a yearly event in some shape or form. I don’t know that Julia would want us to come back but who knows, maybe she is a glutton for punishment.
If you ever get the urge to go on a trip like this, I highly recommend the Rivermen (www.rivermen.com). Their facility is clean and very professional and everyone working there was accommodating and friendly.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
Two and a half days vacation time, $315.00 in supplies and gas, 22 hours on the road, spending a weekend white water rafting with old high school friends. Priceless.
Last week, I started to tell you about my friend Steve who is getting married. A group of us decided to go camping for the bachelor party instead of doing the usual night of bar hopping and strip clubs. Somehow I have made it back and in somewhat one piece.
We all met in a fitting place, the old carriage house where we spent all of our time as kids. Steve’s brother Mike has converted the old party house into a very nicely renovated house for him and his wife.
Friday morning we left at around 7:30 after loading up—five hours of driving ahead of us. The drive was uneventful mostly because everyone was taking turns sleeping in any of the free space we could find in the trucks. By around 1 p.m., we made it to Rivermen, the company that was running our tour.
We were going to be on a section of the New River that runs through Fayetteville, West Virginia. It was a beautiful part of the country. It just smelled clean. This was probably due to the fact that they don’t have turkey and hog farms, no offense to anyone. It was pretty much like being in Asheville or Boone.
Before the trailer was unloaded, the cooler was found and unloaded first. This would pretty much set the pace for the rest of the weekend. Like a bunch of hibernating animals, we all searched for a prime spot for our tents. The grill was set, the food brought out, a horseshoe pit was made and a spot in the woods was designated as the “bathroom.” Friday was set aside for travel, camp set up and catching up with everyone. We did so and crammed a lot of lost time in very short number of hours.
Saturday morning came very fast. I don’t know who brought the clock, I don’t know where the outlet was, but somehow someone knew that it was time to get moving at around 7:00 a.m. We were all very tired and not really ready to fight rapids all day—some of us a lot less ready than others. We ate, made it to the short class about the trip and signed our lives away on the waivers that were required for us to go on the trip.
Our group divided into smaller groups and paired up with our river guides. Thank the lord they didn’t send us out on our own. Julia Schneider was our guide, a quick-witted young lady that somehow kept us all in line.
Julia was also from Maryland so that made her OK in my book. She made her money that day. Julia got us started and prepared us for the first rapid—a fast moving class III. I have never been rafting and had no idea what a class III meant, but I knew that I shouldn’t be there when she said “...and if anyone falls out, stay on your back and get back in the boat as soon as you can. The hydraulics will pull you under.”
Our raft came up to the rapid and everyone’s hearts were pounding. Julia yelled out the command to paddle forward and with the power of fear and adrenaline, we paddled like no tomorrow. Rocks were smacking the raft around and you could feel them changing the contour of the bottom of the raft.
A rock smacked us around and flexed the raft and sent John right out of the boat. John was in no shape to be on the raft because of the night before. We made it through the rest of the rapid and pulled John back into the boat. Julia now had our attention for the rest of the trip!
I asked Julia how high the class rating went for the section of the river that we were traveling for the day. She informed us that by the time we were done we would go through all ratings up to a class VI.
The day went on about the same as the first rapid and the fear slowly turned to excitement as we knocked out a few more. Our trip snaked through the bottom of a deep gorge and large boulders littered the sides of the river.
In a few areas the water was 30 feet deep and very slow moving. In these areas Julia let us jump into the river and float with our life vest. Some areas we floated flat with our toes pointed to the sky and slid over some slow moving rapids. The first one hurt but I quickly learned to put my hands under my backside so that the rocks didn’t crack my tailbone. They should warn people about that!
The last rapid of the day was the highly anticipated class VI. Julia told us that we had to absolutely pay attention and act fast when she told us to “paddle left” or “paddle right.” We took a brief pause in the calm of the river right before the rapid. She told us strap down anything loose, get a secure footing and to remember to act quick.
“Forward” Julia commanded. Like Vikings going to battle, we dug in and rowed. I can’t even begin to tell you how much water came into the boat and how many rocks have layers of our raft still on them, but it was tough. Our raft got to the end and one drop was ahead of us.
We plunged, took on water and were knocked hard. Steve was not in the boat anymore. We were moving fast and out of the corner of my eye I saw his foot sticking out of the water. He was getting pulled down. I quickly grabbed for him but lost my grip. I think it was enough to get him upright. His head came out of the water and Julia quickly extended her paddle and Steve grabbed on.
She single-handedly got him from the rapid and pulled him back in. If her parents could have seen her at work, they would have been proud and impressed. I was.
We made it out and everyone was cheering. The rapids were done and from here on out we floated down the river and jumped in and out of the boat and just cut up for the last 45 minutes of the trip.
A bus picked us up and got us back to camp where we quickly showered and ate a good meal. All of the guys got back together after dinner and hung out at the lodge. There was a great bluegrass band and free games of pool. We all finished our night there trading stories and recapping the days adventure.
Now, spending that much money on a vacation just for myself and leaving my family behind made me feel a little bit guilty. Did I also mention that one of the days was my wife’s birthday. She’s a trooper, Leigh understood the importance of the trip and wanted me to go. There were a lot of hoops to jump through to make this trip happen from the planning to making it home but I wouldn’t have changed a thing. There is nothing like good friends that stick with you for life. The experience was so much fun that some of us were talking about trying to make this a yearly event in some shape or form. I don’t know that Julia would want us to come back but who knows, maybe she is a glutton for punishment.
If you ever get the urge to go on a trip like this, I highly recommend the Rivermen (www.rivermen.com). Their facility is clean and very professional and everyone working there was accommodating and friendly.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
8-21-08 part I
Friends, rowdiness, and a campsite: lend me your gear
My long time friend is getting married, for the second time—this time to a nice girl! I like her and so does my wife. When Steve told me that he proposed to Erika, I was relieved. He would finally have a wife that I liked.
This also means a bachelor party. This time around, however, it’s going to be a little different. We are all older, have a small amount of pocket money and know what is needed to make a bachelor party a success. We are getting the old group of guys together and going camping. No girls. A true Man-cation.
Steve’s brother called me about 3 months ago and informed me that the plan was to get about 12 of the old “crew” together and go white-water rafting for 3 days in West Virginia.
I should, at this point let you know, that this group of guys, including myself, just about raised each other. Starting in high school, we all somehow became friends and all hung out in an old carriage house/barn that was on Steve’s parents property. So I guess you can say we were raised in a barn. Over the years, other “friends” came and went but this group of guys stayed in touch and were always there for each other.
Recently we have all found ourselves living in different parts of the country, so catching up is going to be great. I haven’t seen some of these guys in about ten or so years.
As the trip grows nearer, the e-mails and phone calls have been at a feverish pace. I found myself slipping back into conversation and the general mentality of a 22 year old. The morning that everyone meets at Steve’s is going to be a big mess of testosterone and immaturity. I am sure of it. I’ll make sure of it!
As you read this I will probably be on the road and hopefully already be in West Virginia. We should be there by noon on Friday. All of the catching up will probably be done during the drive and we will all be in full bore immaturity mode at that point. The weekend will be made up of 12 parts testosterone; 2 parts rubber raft; 3 parts mountains; and a dash of someone hopefully watching over us.
Mike, Steve’s brother, did a good job of setting up this trip. He found a company that guides the trips. We won’t have to do a lot of work or thinking. The guides will take us down the river and get us from start to our lunch spot and then to our camp site. Other members of the rafting company will carry our tents and gear down river to the campsite and even cook our dinner. All we will have to do is let loose, eat, drink and do our best to stay in the raft.
Did I say we were going camping? I meant to say we were just going to float down the river and sleep in the woods! Now that I think about it, they are even going to have games and some music at the campsites.
Despite the fact that we won’t necessarily be roughing it, we will surely have a blast. There is nothing like getting old friends together. A friendship that never dies and is unconditional is something to hold onto tightly.
When I get back from the trip, I will bore you with the details and give you a play by play of 12 thirty-something’s digressing to a high school mentality.
It should be good.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
My long time friend is getting married, for the second time—this time to a nice girl! I like her and so does my wife. When Steve told me that he proposed to Erika, I was relieved. He would finally have a wife that I liked.
This also means a bachelor party. This time around, however, it’s going to be a little different. We are all older, have a small amount of pocket money and know what is needed to make a bachelor party a success. We are getting the old group of guys together and going camping. No girls. A true Man-cation.
Steve’s brother called me about 3 months ago and informed me that the plan was to get about 12 of the old “crew” together and go white-water rafting for 3 days in West Virginia.
I should, at this point let you know, that this group of guys, including myself, just about raised each other. Starting in high school, we all somehow became friends and all hung out in an old carriage house/barn that was on Steve’s parents property. So I guess you can say we were raised in a barn. Over the years, other “friends” came and went but this group of guys stayed in touch and were always there for each other.
Recently we have all found ourselves living in different parts of the country, so catching up is going to be great. I haven’t seen some of these guys in about ten or so years.
As the trip grows nearer, the e-mails and phone calls have been at a feverish pace. I found myself slipping back into conversation and the general mentality of a 22 year old. The morning that everyone meets at Steve’s is going to be a big mess of testosterone and immaturity. I am sure of it. I’ll make sure of it!
As you read this I will probably be on the road and hopefully already be in West Virginia. We should be there by noon on Friday. All of the catching up will probably be done during the drive and we will all be in full bore immaturity mode at that point. The weekend will be made up of 12 parts testosterone; 2 parts rubber raft; 3 parts mountains; and a dash of someone hopefully watching over us.
Mike, Steve’s brother, did a good job of setting up this trip. He found a company that guides the trips. We won’t have to do a lot of work or thinking. The guides will take us down the river and get us from start to our lunch spot and then to our camp site. Other members of the rafting company will carry our tents and gear down river to the campsite and even cook our dinner. All we will have to do is let loose, eat, drink and do our best to stay in the raft.
Did I say we were going camping? I meant to say we were just going to float down the river and sleep in the woods! Now that I think about it, they are even going to have games and some music at the campsites.
Despite the fact that we won’t necessarily be roughing it, we will surely have a blast. There is nothing like getting old friends together. A friendship that never dies and is unconditional is something to hold onto tightly.
When I get back from the trip, I will bore you with the details and give you a play by play of 12 thirty-something’s digressing to a high school mentality.
It should be good.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com.
8-14-08
Maryland-style Sunday tradition, serve warm with a generous helping of friends and family
I love the Redskins. I mean, I .......really ........love........ The Redskins. It is a tough job and very thankless at times, but it is a great feeling to have a love for a team. It has been a long time since they were a “winning” team, but being a Redskins fan is sort of like watching one of your children’s baseball games. It doesn’t matter if they win or not You are always behind them and cheering them on.
Now I haven’t always been into football. I was probably 14 before I could even throw one properly. I think it all started when I was younger and started working during my free time when I was in Art School... No jokes please.
When Sunday would come, all I wanted to do was lay on the sofa and fall asleep watching TV. I soon realized that listening to a football commentator’s voice would decrease the time it took for my eyelids to go from open to slam shut.
After a season or two of this becoming my Sunday routine, I found myself looking through the TV Guide to find out when the game was on so I could schedule my nap. Over time, I figured, if I am going to turn on a game I might as well turn on the Redskins. About this time they were right off of their last Super Bowl win. There was no action on the field. Sleeping was good.
I do, on a side note, remember well, where I was on that last Super Bowl win. Do you remember where you were when we went from 1999 to 2000. Kind of like that. Slowly, I started staying awake and actually watching the game.
Now, I know some people would say that I wasn’t a fan. I have friends that know stats that some head coaches don’t even know. They know things like draft picks, depth charts, .......players’ names ( I do know names). I just love watching a good battle and knowing that those soldiers are fighting for my hometown.
I also love the “Tailgate.” This is where I really became a fan.
My Sundays became focused on football. What would we eat? Who’s house would we be at by kick off? Were new girlfriends to be introduced at this time? Should we also cook wings?
My friend Steve and I thought we were the best because we worked a cook line at Chili’s together. Once again, another story.
The Redskins and Sunday in general became a major part of my thinking for the week. I was now officially HOOKED. What other activity is it socially acceptable to wake up at six in the morning to get ready for a game that doesn’t start till 4:30 p.m.
I know what you are saying by now. Well, Maryland Boy, you’re not in Kansas anymore. OH do I know it. Moving away from my friends to N.C., I have now been forced to form my own sort of Sunday tradition with my own family. My wife is on board and I am anxiously waiting to see if my kids take a liking to a Sunday-Redskins tradition. My friends and I call each other on Sundays by the end of the 1st quarter. The half.... and every 3 or 4 plays around the last few clock minutes. That’s right, CLOCK minutes. I told you I was a fan. This is still fun and I get excited talking with my friends, but it just isn’t the same.
I still love my Sundays and love my Redskins. I do miss a house full of friends, food and the all around feeling of camaraderie. I am hoping that over time the tradition will start up again down here in my new home, and I am sure it will.
But until then, I am calling out to all you Redskins fans in the sound of my...voice, (I’ll even just take NFL in general at this point): Plan your Sunday.... after church of course; Make that food; Cook that pig. Ice those drinks..... Just get those friends and family together and start that tradition.
No matter where you live or what team you are rooting for, know that you are watching the soldiers from your hometown, battling for this group-of-friends-that-have-been-planning-for-THIS-60-minutes, all week long.
Just to cheer and hi-five for their soldiers.
Bryan Pinkey is a Duplin Times staff member.
I love the Redskins. I mean, I .......really ........love........ The Redskins. It is a tough job and very thankless at times, but it is a great feeling to have a love for a team. It has been a long time since they were a “winning” team, but being a Redskins fan is sort of like watching one of your children’s baseball games. It doesn’t matter if they win or not You are always behind them and cheering them on.
Now I haven’t always been into football. I was probably 14 before I could even throw one properly. I think it all started when I was younger and started working during my free time when I was in Art School... No jokes please.
When Sunday would come, all I wanted to do was lay on the sofa and fall asleep watching TV. I soon realized that listening to a football commentator’s voice would decrease the time it took for my eyelids to go from open to slam shut.
After a season or two of this becoming my Sunday routine, I found myself looking through the TV Guide to find out when the game was on so I could schedule my nap. Over time, I figured, if I am going to turn on a game I might as well turn on the Redskins. About this time they were right off of their last Super Bowl win. There was no action on the field. Sleeping was good.
I do, on a side note, remember well, where I was on that last Super Bowl win. Do you remember where you were when we went from 1999 to 2000. Kind of like that. Slowly, I started staying awake and actually watching the game.
Now, I know some people would say that I wasn’t a fan. I have friends that know stats that some head coaches don’t even know. They know things like draft picks, depth charts, .......players’ names ( I do know names). I just love watching a good battle and knowing that those soldiers are fighting for my hometown.
I also love the “Tailgate.” This is where I really became a fan.
My Sundays became focused on football. What would we eat? Who’s house would we be at by kick off? Were new girlfriends to be introduced at this time? Should we also cook wings?
My friend Steve and I thought we were the best because we worked a cook line at Chili’s together. Once again, another story.
The Redskins and Sunday in general became a major part of my thinking for the week. I was now officially HOOKED. What other activity is it socially acceptable to wake up at six in the morning to get ready for a game that doesn’t start till 4:30 p.m.
I know what you are saying by now. Well, Maryland Boy, you’re not in Kansas anymore. OH do I know it. Moving away from my friends to N.C., I have now been forced to form my own sort of Sunday tradition with my own family. My wife is on board and I am anxiously waiting to see if my kids take a liking to a Sunday-Redskins tradition. My friends and I call each other on Sundays by the end of the 1st quarter. The half.... and every 3 or 4 plays around the last few clock minutes. That’s right, CLOCK minutes. I told you I was a fan. This is still fun and I get excited talking with my friends, but it just isn’t the same.
I still love my Sundays and love my Redskins. I do miss a house full of friends, food and the all around feeling of camaraderie. I am hoping that over time the tradition will start up again down here in my new home, and I am sure it will.
But until then, I am calling out to all you Redskins fans in the sound of my...voice, (I’ll even just take NFL in general at this point): Plan your Sunday.... after church of course; Make that food; Cook that pig. Ice those drinks..... Just get those friends and family together and start that tradition.
No matter where you live or what team you are rooting for, know that you are watching the soldiers from your hometown, battling for this group-of-friends-that-have-been-planning-for-THIS-60-minutes, all week long.
Just to cheer and hi-five for their soldiers.
Bryan Pinkey is a Duplin Times staff member.
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