Some folks seem to think it’s difficult to write a life story, really it’s not all that difficult, once you get started! I find it’s easiest to write the story chronologically from your earliest recollections to the present day. You will be amazed how one facet, one little minute piece of your life, remembered and brought back to life will just trigger some other incident worth writing about. Before long, you will have written a whole book. The biggest hurdle that you will have, is just getting started.
You will see here below a little snippet of my life written in my last book. Just enough to make a short story or a chapter of a two hundred eighty page book. Just some “Random Ramblings of an Old Geezer” as my life really was!
Just an Old Tire
It was just an old tire, hardly any tread left on it, of all the fine qualities that a good tire might have, which would be many, this tire only had two. One, it was round, and two, it was black! Even so, this was not just an ordinary tire, this tire was valuable, this tire was still in one piece. World War II was going strong and tires were as scarce as knee caps on an earthworm. This tire had another special quality that I’ve never seen in other tires, this old tire could fly!
Our family had been invited to a barbecue, the weather bright and sunny; we had ridden up the mountain to our host’s house in the Thirty Seven Chevy. The Chevy is significant to this story because this was the car that the tire would fit. And tires, even old worn out tires, were hard to get. This was timber country; redwood timber covered almost all the slopes and valleys but still there were a few natural grass areas that we called prairies. Folks from the grand prairies east of the Rocky Mountains. would surely laugh at this because most of these areas that we called prairies would scarcely cover more than one hundred acres. Most of them were on high ridges on the south-side dry slopes where very few majestic redwoods would choose to grow, certainly not a smart redwood that would want to grow big and strong..
These were nice, generous folks that we were about to visit, not only would they treat us to a barbecue but they would give us an old tire that would fit our Chevy.
Through the gate and into the yard, the only flat place on this mountain, we went. My folks were elated when our hosts showed and gave us this wonderful old tire that would fit our Chevy. This was to be a day of fun, festivities and laughter, and a day to remember. This was the day that we would get a new, old tire for the Chevy. Or so we thought!
The elder folks all went into the house to visit, my older brother, thirteen years old and I, ten, chose to stay outside to play. It was a beautiful balmy spring day of sunshine, a good day to frolic, after all.—Now what better thing could a couple of young boys find to play with than an old tire? First my brother would roll it towards me to catch and then I would roll it back to him. This was all great fun. We were high on a mountainside playing in the warm spring sunshine, what could get any better than that?
Well, sometimes things can go awry, and sometimes even an old worn out tire can fly. This tire was fast, right on past me it went, through the gate and down the mountainside. First it just bounced a few feet as it went over the side of the road. The first few bounces were what you might expect from an old worn out tire but the next thing we knew it was tearing off down that steep mountainside like it had a fire in its britches. You could tell this thing was coming alive; it was reliving its youth of long ago.
First it was just bouncing, (in the present tense) and then it was leaping, (in the past tense), or leptus maximus if you prefer Latin. This thing took off down that mountain like a supersonic jet plane and those planes had not even been invented yet.—I tell you for sure, this tire had never, ever gone this fast on a car.
That last leap was really something, it was as if that old tire had wings, up over the poison oak and underbrush it soared, and beyond, to be lost in the standing timber.
Now, my father was never known for having a lot of patience. Most likely the only reason we survived was because he didn’t want to kill us right in front of our hosts. The only polite thing he could do was to spare them the gory mess.
“Tire? What tire? I didn’t see any tire”. “Well it was right here when we went in the house my father said!” “Well, I ah, uh, you see, it was like this, I think”—! My brother and I were in for it now, you better believe it!
My dad made many trips back to the base of that hill looking for that old tire but I can’t remember whether he ever found it or not. But I do remember that old tire could surely fly.