Throwing the football

“It’s a bit like begging,” my dad said to me after I explained a business proposal to him.

“Not really, pops, I replied. “Only kind of.”

I understood his concerns. We were independent guys. Fools as well. We’d always wanted to do things “the right way”, but also “our own way.” And many times, they conflicted.

I was 41. He was 69. Starting up a business wasn’t exactly something either of us had thought of. There was a time when I thought I hated my dad. There still are times when I dislike what he does. I’m sure he’s felt the same way about me.

But I’m tired of chasing my tail. I’m tired of doing a job I don’t like. I remember in my younger, more naïve days when I said to anyone who’d listen that I’d never end up in a job I hate. And here I am at 41, in a job I hate. Yes, it was taken out of necessity. But that was over two years ago. Plenty of time to GTFO, as the kids would write now.

So, I cooked up an idea one night. I was drinking, I will admit that, but like all drunks, I believe my best ideas come after at least four beers.

I’d start up a bar-b-que business with my dad. It would be a way for us to bond, finally, after all of these years. He’d be the recipe guy, the “talent” so to speak. I’d be the idea guy, the marketing department, the capital procurement one. He already had a cooker. All we’d need was a place to sell.

That’s when I broached the idea. It would be a “retirement” job for him. A “part-time” gig for me. Hopefully, it would morph into something special soon afterwards.

My main worries are – 1. My dad’s health. He’s not exactly in the prime of his life. 2. My ability to run a eatery. 3. Whether we’d fall flat on our faces. Maybe people won’t like his food on a grand scale. And 4. Would I enjoy it?

I decided none of those concerns were enough to worry and I plunged head first. I got up a business plan, I found a location and I set up some early food and beverage procurements. All of this before I talked to my dad once.

On vacation, right around his birthday, I decided it was time to make a sales pitch.

“You’re not a salesman,” was his response. But he smiled at the idea of me and him being business partners.

“Too bad you didn’t think of this 10 years ago,” he said.

“Dad,10 years ago, I didn’t want to be in the same room as you,” I replied.

He was hurt, but he understood the message.

“Well, what is this Kickstarter thing?”

“It’s a web site where folks go and ask for money from others in order to get their project started,” I said.

“So, we beg strangers for money?” he said frowning.

“OK, it is that. But, so is going to a bank and asking for a loan, right?”

“Yes, but,” he started. I cut him off.

“No buts, it is the same thing. We’re just taking out the institution from the process. Well, I’m sure the Kickstarter folks are now just the bank now, and I’m sure they make quite a nice cut. Hopefully, not as much as a bank.”

“You haven’t looked in to this?” my dad questioning me openly now.

“No. I haven’t.”

“Not exactly the best way to get started.”

“Well, we could just use my credit cards I guess. Since yours are most likely nearly maxed out,” I said, too snarkingly.

“No. Me and your mother have paid of most of them,” he said, smiling at her.

“You mean, she’s paid off most of them,” I retorted.

“Tough crowd tonight,” my brother-in-law interjected. A hearty chuckle was had by all.

“But back on course here dad,” I said. “We can do this. And I think it’ll be fun. Open up a BBQ joint, sell your awesome stuff, even venture into shrimps and tuna, God damn your stuff is good. And I think it’ll be a hit.”

“Son, I’d love to. But I’m too old to start a business.”

“That’s the beauty dad,” I tried to reason with him. “You teach me how to do the cooking too. You’ve never taught me anything about your cooking. I’d love to know.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“I know. But you’ve never offered either.”

My dad looked over at my mother, shaking his head.

“You haven’t dear,” she said. My mom loved to poke the bear. I’d told her many times of the last 15 years that she enjoyed provoking him more than anything else now. She didn’t get it. But I know she did. She just didn’t want to admit it. She’s much too smart to be so simple.

“Anyway,” I restarted. “Let’s make a go of it. What’s there to lose? And we could gain so much from it.”

“Gain?” my dad asked puzzled.

“Dad, maybe you and I could have a father and son relationship. Finally.”

“But,” he said.

“Dad, I love you. And I love all that you’ve done for me over the years. It took me a long time to realize that you actually didn’t hate me. That you were always looking out for me. You just never were able to tell me. Hell, if we’d thrown a football once or twice when I was 10, everything would have turned out a whole lot differently. Or maybe not. But, I’d have that memory. I don’t have it. And this is my way to try and get that memory.”

He teared up. I took a deep breath and a long swig of by now hot beer. It tasted good, however. It was exactly what I needed at that moment.

I went up to him and stuck my hand out. He put his out. We shook hands.

“Let’s do this,” I said.

“OK,” he said. “Now let’s have a drink.”

Another day gone...

The road is the only place I truly feel at home. At least, that’s how it seemed today.

Decided to get in the car and drive somewhere new today. It’d been a long time since that particular activity was accomplished, and that’s a shame. Living in a different place should send one out into the unknown often. Until the unknown is the known, or at least the familiar.

The red shark kind of stopped that from happening at the end. She became too much of a liability and a wild card. Not that that really was a bad thing. The only regret about it is I never took that last journey, and stayed wherever she broke down. But, I guess that’s not entirely true, since she all but broke down here one night on the way back from work, but really, it doesn’t count. At least not to me.

I turned the car east today, deciding to go down U.S. 70 until it ended. Figured there wouldn’t be much out there: 1/ because it’s the middle of nowhere near the ocean, and 2/ I’ve been there before. It was 12 years ago, plus a few months, the last time I ventured out towards that part of the world. At least, I believe that was when it happened.

First stop of the day was just outside of my new town. A friend of a friend, aka, a facebook person, told me to stop at Radio Island. It was just a few miles from my pad, so why not I figured.

I pulled into the place around 1 in the afternoon. It’s right beside some kind of military installation. But not a very important one, looks-wise, and was rather un-inspiring. There were some cars parked in the lot, not too many, so that’s cool. One guy was leaving with his fishing equipment.

When I got there, it kind of resembled the little place from Jaws where folks hung out. Just a little bit. Not much really, but that’s what popped into my mind. It is kind of small in there sometimes.

I turned on the L-pod and started walking. There were a bunch of chicks out there. All in their mid-to-late 20s. Me walking by with my horrible hair blowing in the wind must have been quite a site. I looked up and smiled, got nothing and kept walking. One had one of those ugly barb-wire tats on the arm. Eh, no real loss there.

The next group was another gaggle of chicks. A little older. With two dogs. A redhead girl was quite intoxicating to look at and I found myself probably looking a little too long. They just stood around and watched me as a moseyed on past. Hair flapping in the breeze.

The decision to chop all of my hair off never seemed like a better idea that right at that moment. Why? Because I looked at my shadow and saw how awful it really looks in the breeze. Ha. Idiot.

As I passed the redhead, her little dog growled at me. Guess it’s opinion is made up. Either that or he just doesn’t like comb overs.

I keep walking, enjoying the cool water on my bare feet, but not enjoying having to move around all the fishermen along the rest of the waterway I’m walking down. That and the occasional boat passing by churning up waves along the coast. It’s a nice calm inlet, that gets overcome by them.

Finally, I get into the clear and keep walking. I see some big-ass birds, seagulls from hell, no doubt as they look at me with their hungry eyes. Not Eric Carmen hungry, but just plain I’ll eat your eyeballs out if you let me hungry.

After another two or three minutes I come to a fence. It says “Danger: Use of deadly force authorized.” Well, fuck, that makes me feel right at home on this public beach area.

I sit down and write a little. Whittlin’ might be a better activity the way I’ve been writing lately. Such drivel coming out of my mind and my pen. In fact, I don’t do enough of it. It’s the only way I’ll get out of this damn rut of awfulness.

A friend of a friend of mine, he’s on facebook, but we met before that and sorta got along, just finished his first novel the other day. He’s shown amazing fortitude in getting it done. Started it here in Eastern NC a few years ago. Moved to another pad in ENC, then to Maryland, then back to ENC and now in Charlotte.

But, he kept chugging away. Even while now working at a car wash.

That’s awesome. I need to find that dedication. It can’t be that hard to sit and write and write and write. Just discard the crap.

Well, I guess that’s what I’m doing with this blog, bloggity, blog. Although I have already disappointed myself with skipping days.

I’m only allowed to do so if I’m having fun. Which, a couple of those days that happened. Including the blackout drunken night.

Which I was given a clue about last night, as the redhead from Texas, via Alaska, California, Virginia and New York left me a message on the Facebook. She said I wasn’t “too bad” which means I was an awful mess. I also wanted to touch heads, apparently. Which is better than grabbing her boobs. Maybe? Put your damn cards on the table and see where you stand, right?

Right…

Anyways, I think I’m near 750 words, should I continue. I guess.

I got back to my car just as the second group of gals was leaving. The redhead and I left the parking lot at the same time, and I was behind her for a good 10 miles before she turned. I wonder if she got weirded out by it and just took a turn? I dug that chick, my single serving crush for the day. Of course, when I got home today, a really awesome looking lady walked by with her mom. I ran outside to take a look, she looked at me and then looked away. Story of my life.

Then an hour or so later, I was getting home from the store and saw them again. She looked awfully young this time. Oh well.

Finally, I got driving again. Got tailgated by three white trucks, one with a big 88 Dale Earnhardt Jr. license plate on the front. Yee-haw. I would see him again later too.

At one point on the side of the road, well, in the water was one of those cool house boats. Not the nice, fully furnished with shower and flushing toilets kind, that most likely have cable tv, but instead one that was just a shack on top of a boat.

Someone is living the life in that thing, I thought. Just drifting up and down the waterway, wherever he/she or they want to go. That sounds great. Huck Finn is still a very nice way to think about life. It reminds me of Schulze’s Got the Blues, a great freaking movie. Maybe I’ll watch it tonight. Although I have two new to me movies to watch…Back on target…

I got to see a bunch of cool little towns, Williston, Sea Level and others. Finally arriving at the end of the road in Atlantic. It just ended. No fanfare. Just a bunch of fishing boats. There was a cool looking white rhino that I saw as I was leaving. I now wish I’d taken a snapshot of it. Guess I’ll have to go back.

I was hoping a cool bar would be there at the end. But there wasn’t one. Maybe that’s where I need to open a place…Nah.

Back in the car, it was turned up N.C. 12 next towards the ferry. I recognized it vaguely from the last time I was here. With a girl that time. Laughing and smiling and not paying attention to the scenery much. Just enough to point out things to her. We took that ferry -- all two hours of it -- and kept going up the coast to Nags Head. At great shrimp at a place I’ve looked for every time I’ve been back, but never been able to find. Guess it should be that way. A once in a lifetime stop. You go back, it won’t be the same. So why bother trying…So, the mind blanks out the name of it. Unlike the ice cream place. Which is in an easy-to-find location. And has changed names twice now. A different gal and I went there. They had just built it and opened it. It was a good time too. However, I went back there. And it was completely different than I remembered it being. See what I mean.

After staring at the ferry’s dock, and scribbling some notes and snapping a photo, I decided not to go to the gift shop or the little restaurant/motel that was there.

Instead, I went back home.

Another day gone. But this one wasn’t wasted.