0
0
that may remain forever untold.
I stumbled across it this morning: the latest version of the preface to my impending—or suspended—autobiography. Perhaps sharing it here will prod, prompt, or poke me off dead center. I doubt it. But who knows?
Here it is…
Everything….
It is raining outside. Pouring. As my father-in-law might say, “It’s raining like a blind cow peeing on a flat rock.” Beyond the downpour, thunder rumbles and claps in the dark clouds. It feels ominous, and I feel alive.
I initially planned to name this memoir “Everything the hard way.” I saw the cover so clearly in my mind. The “everything” would have the first letter capitalized, and the word would be in an elegant, cursive font that dominated the cover. Like…
Then, as a subheader, “the hard way” would be in block lettering, no capitalization, and much smaller, like…
In my mind’s eye, I saw the books flying off the shelves of Barnes & Noble and dropping into millions of Amazon shopping carts. I enthusiastically shared the title with my first confidant, Donya, my wife of (at this writing) 45 years. She was kind in her response and receptive to the title. She did not do any backflips or dances.
“Keep searching. That is ok. You might think of something better.”
She didn’t say those words to me. I just felt them.
…the hard way
I explained the reason I chose the title. I have experienced more in my lifetime than most would in several lives…not all of it good, but good enough to wake up tomorrow. As I sit here, I have everything I need, if not everything I want. I have held lofty positions and seen incredible things. I have three wonderful daughters and four grandsons. I drive a Ram 1500 Platinum Edition, the best truck I have ever owned. Though Donya and I live alone together now, we own the biggest house we have ever owned, the biggest by far. It is 4,200 square feet, with four bedrooms, two offices, three bathrooms, two living areas, a formal dining room, a sitting room, a game room, and outside, a tropical haven with a beautiful swimming pool.
We got everything we have the hard way, mostly because of the choices I made, bad decisions, immaturity, and impatience.
The title of the book makes perfect sense. It means something to me.
I shared it with my other trusted confidant and advisor, a man you will get to know well in these pages, my best friend Keith Day. Keith’s response was similar to Donya’s. He said he liked it a lot. But he could not convince me. I know he is too kind, and I know enthusiasm when I don’t see it.
Back to the drawing board.
Then, it came to me.
Vapor!
As I considered how much time has slipped away since I wrote my first paragraphs in this project (more than two years now), I thought of the brevity of life. Whenever I think of the brevity of life, I think of the King James Bible version of James 4:14, which reads: Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.
Vapor! That’s it, I thought. That is what I will name the book.
That became the name. I set up a folder in Google Docs titled Vapor. This piece will be filed under that name for safekeeping until the parts are completed and compiled.
I told Donya. She liked it, she said. Her response was not much different than before, I could tell. In her mind, I think, either one would do…or neither one, for that matter. I got a similar response from Keith. I didn’t ask anyone else. This was the title.
Was, I said. Not is…was. Here’s why…
I was driving to work, listening to a book on Audible, when I heard a phrase that I wanted to be sure I remembered. I was in rush hour traffic on the cursed Texas highway numbered 183, which acts as the zipper running East/West through the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex. Highway 183 is consistently among the most congested roads in this gridlocked Texas metropolis and is no place to get distracted while navigating.
I thought, “I better write that down before I forget.” But of course, I couldn’t. I figured I would forget it in the 30-40 minutes it took me to finish my trip to the office. I was right.
Somewhere on Highway 183, where I spend more of my life than I want, it hit me like a ton of roadway concrete.
Before I forget…
“That’s it!” I said aloud. “Before I Forget.”
My maternal grandfather suffered from dementia and Alzheimer’s disease. My mother was going down that same path when she died. I confess that I worry about my faculties, too. I worry that I am slipping.
In March of this year (2024), I presented a continuing education class at a trade show in Boston. The convention was held in a massive hall connected to an upscale indoor shopping mall and several hotels. I taught the class twice, but between sessions, I forgot where the classroom was. I wandered about, following signs and telltale signs that weren’t real signs, and finally found the room mere minutes before class was scheduled to begin.
I threw myself into my presentation. It went well, but I was so invested in it that afterward, I once more lost my bearings. I quickly found the extra-long escalator connecting three levels. As I rode it down from level three, I realized I didn’t know whether to exit on the second or first level. I tried the second. A big part of the convention was housed there, but I found no familiar exit. So, I rode down to the first level. Same thing. It was familiar after three days of working in that area, but I found no exit that seemed right.
I rode that escalator up and down several times. My feet were hurting from miles of walking that week, I was tired and confused. I wanted to sit down and cry. I spotted two men I knew had come into the convention from the same direction I had, and followed them back to the mall, from which I made my way to my hotel room.
As I trudged along, humiliated even though only I knew what I had been through, I thought about the confusion I saw on my grandfather’s face a few times toward the end. Confusion, uncertainty, and even fear in one of the most fearless men I have ever known.
So, that is it.
Before I Forget.
I told Donya. She lit up!
“I love that so much!” she said. I knew she meant it.
I told Keith.
“Man, that is perfect. I want to read that book.”
“You will,” I answered. “Probably with your attorney.”
We laughed. I knew I had my title.
Before I forget, let’s get on with the story I have come to tell you. It is extraordinary, but for me, it may not be unforgettable.
