Feels Like the First Time

May 27th, 1984. It was the day after the regional track meet. I had qualified for State in the 110 meter high hurdles and in the shuddles. We had set school records in both and were totally psyched to be in the hunt for a state medal. The family had let me sleep in since I got home so late the night before. So here I was, full of good news and no one to tell. They had all gone to church and then over to Copen for the softball tourneys.

It was a magick day, like only May in Appalachia can be. High puffy clouds in a crisp blue sky with a warm day and low humidity heralded a top ten day. I loaded into the Subaru and headed out to the ballfield behind Uncle Junior’s house in Copen.

Copen is a little town up a holler in the middle of nowhere West Virginia. Its sole distinction is it is where my mom’s family is from. Another story, another time. I rolled in around noonish, just as the games were getting under way. My great aunt Carrie was in a lawn chair under the maple tree in front of the house. She was one of the greatest people I ever met and I had a great day chatting with her for an hour or two.

I was never a softball player, but I enjoyed watching. So that’s what I did. I sat and looked around. It was in the second game when I noticed a little red haired girl in a white belly shirt, watching the game and occasionally watching me. Cute splash of freckles with a coppery/gold cascade of gently falling curls framing the ubiquitous over-sized glasses that were all the rage in the 80’s. It wasn’t long before I was sitting beside her having a quiet conversation.

I found out she was the wingman to her friend Barb who was there with a specific target in mind. Since things were going well there, Lori had nothing to do but watch the game and chat with me. Eventually the games wound down and I walked Lori to her car. She was driving a brand-spanking new Dodge Shelby, silver with a blue racing strip, totally hot ride. I turned to this girl I had known for a few hours, kissed her on the cheek and asked her to marry me. She said, “OK.” Then I asked to drive her car.

I snagged the keys out of her hand and pounded that little roadster up the road, leaving her behind and opting for my brother Jason as copilot. How in the world she stuck around is a mystery to me. We finished the night with a trip over to Burnsville dam, along with about 20 other people from the game. Something special about youth and water worked its magic that night. All I will say is that I wrote her number in the dust on the rear windshield of my car and prayed to God that it would not rain.

That was 26 years ago today. Lori is still with me and I am blessed beyond reason. Thank you, Lori for being my wife and the mother of my children. I know you don’t believe me, but I still see that little red-headed girl in the belly shirt every time I look at you. Muah!

The Faerie Cotillion

The Faerie Cotillion

This is the very first “boy story” my oldest daughter remembers me telling her. At the end is her version. She is nine.

When I was a boy….I had two older brothers who delighted in tormenting their younger siblings. Not an unusual set of circumstances I know, but torturous to me and my younger brother, Jason. Being tickled until we cried or held down while one of the older boys nearly dribbled spit on us was a pretty common occurrence. As might be expected, Jason and I banded together and tried our best to escape the harsh treatment that only older brothers can dish out to their own when the parents are away. Some days we got lucky. Some days not.

One day, when the teasing was particularly unreasonable, Jason and I retreated to the hillside just past the barn. It was a peculiar place at a bend in the river, over hung with thick, slow sycamore trees and a wet cascade of sandstone cliffs. The sun rarely shone full force on this steep slope and the ground was always wet. In the winter, amazing ice formations covered a low overhang of rock. The light danced blue off the thick columns transporting us to a cold, sere northern clime, full of mystery and magick. The summer was less fantasy and more foreboding, with a slick moss-covered plunge from the rock face to the river below waiting on anyone so foolish as to attempt the heights above the bend.

But this summer was different. A long dry spell had withered the moss and made once slick rocks a potential hand hold for young nimble fingers. Jason and I climbed away from the pestilence of older brothers and found a gap in the stone we had never seen before. A bare wedge of rock opened up into a shallow shelf full of shadow normally obscured. As we rested in this make-shift cave, we heard a faint musical sound from back in the shadows. Being young and convinced of our own invulnerability, we crawled into the narrow crevice, looking for the source.

Eventually we passed a point where the sunlight vanished and absolute darkness took over. For those of you who have never been deep in a cave or had some other chance to experience absolute darkness, all I can say is the disconcerting feeling it brings is nearly overwhelming. All references you are accustomed to disappear and you are stripped of defenses and reason. We held firm to the cool rock under our fingers and pressed onward toward a faint glow at the back of the tunnel.

We crept slow and quiet toward the light as it became clear we were closer and closer to the music deep in the mountain. One final crawl toward the edge and we could see below, a dance like something out of a story book. Just a few feet below us was a group of ….pixies(?) dancing a complicated series of steps to the high, lonesome sound of flutes and drums from out of the shadows. Perfectly formed young ladies of the smallest stature, we watched their whirls and bobs in the flickering torches, barely daring to breathe. Barely knowing what to think or even who we were.

From out of unseen corridors came equally small men in green coats and hats, with an arrogance and command that equaled the dainty refinement of the pixies. I can only believe these wee men were leprechauns. I know…I know. We were as stunned as you. And our actions eventually betrayed us, for as the Faerie folk below us danced in ever-increasingly complicated patterns, I leaned a bit too far forward and fell headfirst into the swirling cotillion below.

The second my hand touched the pile of gold coins they were swirling about, the lights went out and a reek of sulfur assailed my nose. I groped about blindly for some solid link in the mad confusion and noise, finally latching onto my brother’s hand just a second before landing in a pile of leaves with the sun shining down on us, gasping and blinking in the sudden light of day.

Eventually we found our way home and continued to dance the fine line of sibling abuse versus burgeoning adolescence. But from that day forward, Jason and I had a bond. Something special had passed between us and we were more than brothers, more than what biology had dictated. Some impossible to define essence was shared between us and we were forever changed because of it. Forever bound, also, by the small and ancient gold coin I had managed to palm in the deep darkness of the pixie cave.



This is what Jenna remembers of the story….” When Dad was a boy, he went out with Uncle Jason. As they were out, they went exploring. Dad and Uncle Jason found a small hole in the ground. In that hole they found a fairy and leprechaun party. As they were watching, Dad fell through the hole and all of the fairies and leprechauns left! The lights went out and Dad was left there sitting in a pot of gold! Cool, right! So that’s the story of how Dad saw the leprechauns and fairies.



The End.”