Talking with a friend this week a memory came to the surface that he thought was worthy of a blog post. At the risk of being self serving, I share it here.
Years ago, I came across a principle. It is not a particularly profound principle in fact it is quite basic. Even though it is simple that does not diminish its power. The principle is: A person will never give a manager, coach, teacher, parent or any other leader their full potential when the fear of failure is present and especially if they feel that failure is fatal.
It was a year where I was one of the assistant coaches and I hated it. You see I like being in charge, so being an assistant hacked away at my pride and my creativity. My son was age 13. This team and league were new to both of us. The head coach was not a tyrant but mistakes were certainly not celebrated and it was common for a player to be pulled immediately from the game for a small infraction. The team’s win loss record was less than great, with only an occasional win.
Late in the season the head coach came to me, unable to make the next game, he asked me if I would be the acting head coach for the upcoming game. I agreed with some exuberance. He warned me that the team we were playing had previously beaten us soundly and he was sorry for leaving me with such a dismal outlook. Maybe it was because I didn’t respect him that caused him to not respect me but either way he was clear in his communication that he expected little, and a loss.
Being the rebellious person I am, and watching all year in silence, his coaching style. Maybe I was more excited about this opportunity than I should have been. I knew after this game, I would not be asked to fill in again, so I immediately decided to ignore his long list of instructions and the lineup sheet he gave me. One thing for sure, I was not going to start his son! Brian would take the starting spot in the lineup. Brian was a far better player and because he played the same position as the coach’s son, he was yet to start a game – I hated that! BTW-small bonus, a couple of years latter Brian told me I was the best coach he ever had – and why wouldn’t he?
I also, decided to make another change. The team had stretched out and it was time for the pre-game meeting. I had the team follow me and we jogged out into right field, right up next to the fence. All the other adults were far out of ear shot which is exactly what I wanted.
“What are we doing way out here coach?”
“Good question, we are going to have a talk. Today were going to do something different, there is going to be a new rule. It will probably only be for this game but this rule is just for you. The new rule is this, everyone is allowed three mistakes during this game.” I looked around, it was a miracle, the whole team was intently listening. I paused a long time, taking in the phenomena. Getting over my shock I continued, “When you make a mistake you will not be pulled out of the game, you will not be criticized, you will not be yelled out. You can strike out three times, you can make three fielding errors, you can get thrown out trying to steal, it doesn’t matter. Each of you get three mistakes. And, who knows some of you might even get four.”
They looked at me dumfounded. Brian threw up a hand. “Yeah, Brian?”
“You mean I can miss the ball totally and you’re not going to yell at me?”
"That’s right, any more questions?”
There were a couple more questions similar to Brian’s. As I answered them and explained that when one played with worry it was like a lead weight hanging around his neck and it was impossible for anyone to play to their full ability. I talked to them how I believed in them and thought they all had abilities we had never seen. It wasn’t long before the light began coming on. Some were still suspicious but moods began to change. Fearful stressed faces began to relax and smiles began to replace scowls. You could begin to see they thought this might be fun!
The game started and true to my word – with great exuberance I celebrated effort regardless of the outcome. Weaker batters I would say, when you go up there, no soft swings, swing at that ball hard! Let it know who it came in contact with! Kids that normally looked for a walk got hits and hard hits. Players who had God given speed but were normally timid on the bases took risks and stole bases. Yes, some struck out and some were thrown out, but all in all, very few mistakes were made. Skill levels we had not seen before came to the field that day. Even the conversation between the players was lighter and encouraging. I don’t remember the score but we won that game by a large margin and it reinforced in me, the principle, that fear of failure in and of its self is fatal.
The coach did show up during the second to the last inning and was dumbfounded. I told him about our three mistake rule, which he was very unimpressed with. But, I was right about one thing, I never was asked to fill in again.
I hope you do what you can to remove the fear of failure from you own life and also from those you lead. It might surprise you what is lying there waiting to come out.
Good luck – take a risk.
Yesterday I was to meet my wife for dinner at a local diner. She had earlier shared some great news with me and I thought I would shock her by actually bring her flowers for once when I wasn’t in trouble. As it happened, I arrived 15 minutes early and set the flowers on the table. From the glances I received walking in, it was hard to tell if the flowers in this particular restaurant was an oddity or just rare for an old guy to be carrying in flowers. Real flowers I knew were not normal because of all the plastic ones splashed around here and there where the dust had collected.
There was one particular old guy who watched me walk in, and if one saw him carrying flowers into a restaurant, every patron would know immediately he was in trouble with his wife. He could not stop looking at me sitting there by myself with those flowers lying on the table. I could see it was killing him. The curiosity finally overtook the poor soul and as him and his wife got up to leave he said, “Pretty flowers.”
“Yes, they are - every now and then I buy them for myself,” My answer did little to satisfy the poor creature. His brow furrowed, his lips went tight, and his eyes squinted down oh so slightly. I wanted to say, ‘you look confused, what’s the problem, don’t you buy yourself flowers?’ In this day and age, in our anything goes society, I could see he was at a loss as the many possible scenarios that flashed through his cranium. At best this was one of those awkward moments and I could see him scrambling for a response. I did have to admire the speed, his mind was not working. After sufficient discomfort had been allowed I added, “It is possible my wife might get them when she arrives.”
His face relaxed and I could see, once again all was right in his world. His wife then felt free to also admire the flowers.
The waitress who often waits on us came by to say, I shouldn’t have brought her flowers. She is cute enough I would probably have laughed at any attempt of humor on her part.
After my wife’s salad and my hamburger were consumed and we were preparing to leave and since our body language and conversation did not indicate I was there to make amends for some horrible very bad deed. The three waitresses had concluded that we must be out for our anniversary and said so. My wife told them her good news and all were appropriately impressed.
I would tell you the good news but at the moment I am not in trouble and I want to keep it that way. I will say the good news is NOT that we are going to have a baby but most of you already knew that.
The first clue that made me think my decision might not have been the best, was when I had to use my fingers to pull my lower lip out of my mouth. By feel, I lined up my lower lip with my upper lip. It felt right, but I was not certain my effort was successful. Walking down the hall I could hear voices. I was doubtful if I could talk. That dull ache in my jaw was already annoying me.
Two hours ago I had been given the choice, do both sides today or reschedule and come back later for the other side. Hmmm….at the time it seemed logical. I will do most anything to avoid a second trip to the dentist. What could be so bad about having ones complete lower jaw numb? I ran through the possible scenarios. Biting my tongue in half seemed like the worse possibility. It didn’t occur to me that talking would be so difficult and this drooling in public thing, did it really have to be part of the deal?
The nurses parting words were, “if you drink something hot it will help the numbness to go away quicker.” Was that a smirk I just saw cross that fully functioning face of hers? The way I felt, I knew drinking something hot was a bad idea, it probably would just end up in my lap. “You can also try exercising, getting the blood flowing will help dissipate the anesthesia.” If I could have raised an eye brow at her I would of, I wanted to say, “yeah, I will get right on that.” I really don’t think they should allow the emotionally disturbed, serial teasers to wear those blue jump suits.
With my chin drooling and drooping I wondered if this is what it felt like to have a stroke. I decided going back to work was a no good, horrible, very bad idea. I headed home. The drive home was uneventful and I was careful not to bite my tongue. I was pretty sure I was successful but I could not be entirely certain since I had no feeling in my tongue. Arriving home I went straight to the mirror to see if my tongue was intact and if my lips were still together. The tongue still had that scar but no new injuries.
I noticed I had no feeling in my right ear, was that suppose to happen? I wondered if the doc went a little over kill on the drug, did my eyebrows really need to be numb? Both seemed to be a long ways from my lower jaw.
On the positive side this might be an excellent opportunity to pluck all those nasty ear and nose hairs, pain free. Where are those tweezers? Ah, heck with it, maybe a nap is what I need. I wiped the drool off my chin and headed for the easy chair.
Two hours later: hmmm….everything still seems numb and I am getting hungry. Maybe I will try the exercise advice. Layered up and laced tight were the new pair of hiking boots I wanted to break in. I headed out for a 30 minute brisk walk. I got the heart pumping with the help of some short jogs and was back home feeling better.
The numbness was actually dissipating; I only have one small place on the right side of my chin that is still numb. I guess that exercise thing works. But, what is that smell? An odor that rises with heat…. Oh, it’s me. I would say somebody’s deodorant isn’t working but I am the only one in the room and besides I am not wearing any. The smell is not really that bad, let’s just call it a manly smell and forget about it for now.
All and all, sitting here with the numbness mostly gone, my conclusion is I made the right decision. No dentist for another year. YES!
I guess it’s time for some dinner and then maybe a shower.
I know your thinking, ‘did I really read the whole thing? Why? Why?’
Sorry.
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| Palo Verde tree |
"It was Christmas and I had told my girl friend Nancy that I would come, but when I got to thinking about my situation, I realized it would be foolish. I had no car and very little money. Most of what I earned was going to the school. I would have to hitch-hike to her home, live in their house, eat their food and would have nothing to contribute to their Christmas. I didn’t go.
Since I had planned to go to Nancy’s in Illinois for Christmas, I had not made any other plans. All of a sudden I realized that everyone was disappearing and soon I would be in Hesston alone for the Christmas break. Mom was living in Phoenix, so I decided to hitch-hike home."
Sure why wouldn’t Uncle H hitchhike – that is totally reasonable. It was only three states away and a mere 1,000 plus miles, makes sense to me – NOT!
"A friend said I could ride with him to Guyman, Oklahoma. I spent the night with him at his home in Guyman and the next morning he took me out to the highway. I got a ride before too long and rode to some other town where I again had my thumb out. After a while a guy stopped and picked me up. He was going to Tucson, Arizona. He offered to let me off at the junction leading to Phoenix, but since it was out in the middle of nowhere, I said I would ride all the way to Tucson with him.
We arrived around 10:00 p.m. after dark and he took me to a truck stop. I tried for quite a while to get a ride and when it seemed I might have to give up a man stopped. Once I was in his car and headed for Phoenix, I realized I had made a mistake. He was very drunk and was speeding down the highway in a much uncontrolled manner. I decided I had to get out at the first opportunity. A sign came up indicating some kind of junction, so I told him that was where I needed off. He questioned why I would want off there but I insisted that was where I wanted off.
I found myself out, really in the middle of no-where in the middle of the night. There was no way anyone would stop for me now. Finally a bus came along and left someone off and a car came up to pick him up. They were heading down the opposite road than where I wanted to go so I was out of luck. They did give me a book of matches which proved to be very welcome. It is cold at night, even in Arizona, at that time of year so I soon had a fire going under a Palo Verde tree. This is where I was to spend the rest of the night.
I didn’t sleep a wink however, because before long three men showed up and wanted to get warm at my fire. One had a lot of blood on his head. They said, he had fallen from a rail-road trestle not too far from there because of the darkness. We sat eyeing each other across the fire for the night. I was sitting close to the suitcase I was carrying and every time they moved I must have gotten closer to it because the one said, “ We aren’t going to bother you for what you have there “. I don’t know why I was so protective of it, because there really wasn’t anything in it of any worth. Just a few hand-me-down clothes, but it was mine and I planned to protect it. I was very happy when the first rays of morning began to show. I bid my companions goodbye, left the fire going for them and headed out.
The very first car that came along stopped and I could hardly wait to get in. He was a nice man that was headed for Phoenix, so I was in luck. He dropped me off on 7th street close to Sunnyslope and I began walking home from there. Believe it or not, my brother, W had come home for Christmas and was driving north when I put my thumb out again and he stopped to pick me up. He was really surprised to see me as I was him. No-one knew that I was coming home. Neither did I, until the last minute. I’m sure that I got my bag of candy again, though."
(As poor as they were, his mother always managed a small bag of candy for all of her one short of a dozen kids on Christmas. Gifts were not part of the Uncle H’s Christmas celebrations. Once when he was younger he made up a big story to his classmates of the elaborate Christmas presents he got when he actually only had received a small bag of candy)
"As luck would have it, there was someone in Phoenix from Hesston and agreed to take me back when I returned. I was glad I didn’t have to hitch-hike back. Mom’s house in Phoenix was right next to the Mennonite Church so that is how we made the connection for the ride."
Several things struck me as interesting in this story. My Uncle H thought nothing of hitch-hiking over 1,000 miles to go home for Christmas. The danger of such a journey came to light on his trip and thankfully he made it home safely. The other was, his unwillingness to go to his girl friend’s if he could not contribute – Uncle H was no free loader. The last, here was another time that by his wits, Uncle H always seemed to make things work out.
A childhood forms the man. Uncle H grew up in hard times. He began his work life in the third grade. He had no father but watched a mother whose every effort focused on the family unit and its survival. He always wore hand me down clothes, lived each day under the shame of a broken home that was magnified by the ridged Mennonite religious community he lived in. He was at the tail end of six brothers who set the bar high for hard work. He took on the expectation of individual responsibility that often required extraordinary effort, and this formed the man.
‘Growing up it was always understood that once us boys were 18 and had employment, half of our wages would go to the family until we turned 21. I wanted to go to college and I asked Mom if she would let me keep all the money I made from that point on. I told her that I wanted to go to college and the only way I knew how, was to put all the money I earned towards paying for it. She agreed to this. Up to this time I never saw any of the money I had earned from Mom hiring me out. I had worked every summer since I was in the third grade of elementary school, and many other times. All my money went directly to Mom or to the Mennonite School up to this point. I just accepted this as my responsibility to Mom and to the family. I had no regrets for this and still don’t to this day. Sure, I wished for things along the way and wanted to take part in things at school sometimes, but I felt it my responsibility to work.’
Surprisingly, in reading my uncle’s memoir there is an absence of resentment or bitterness for a childhood that was mostly missed. I read of no lazy summer days traipsing up and down the local creek fishing nor did I read of a child lying on his back watching a kite fly high against a bright blue sky. But, I did notice the deep loss and pain that reflected from his words over the loss of the father he never had. Bewilderment as to how his father could care nothing about him was evidenced by the lack of even a single simple note, card or phone call throughout his growing up years.
Uncle H married in 1956, at age 20. He sang to his bride as she walked down the aisle, I Love You Truly. Uncle H did a lot of singing during his two years of college and still sings for churches, weddings and social groups to this day. He moved to Arizona where he worked a production job at the Pope Lime Company a fruit juice company.
'After a couple years with Pope Lime Company, I decided that I needed to find a better vocation. I always liked working with my hands, and my brother P was working in a woodworking shop, which gave me the idea of becoming an Industrial Arts Teacher. I also remembered the shop classes I had taken and I always enjoyed them.
I enrolled at Arizona State University in Tempe, Arizona. In order to attend classes during the day, I needed a job at night. So before quitting my job at Pope Lime Company I found a new one with Safeway Produce Warehouse. I went to work at 4:00 p.m. and worked until 1:30 or 2:00 a.m. loading trucks. The trucks were backed up to a loading dock and a ramp was used to get from the dock to the truck bed, which was about 18 inches higher than the dock. We loaded produce, milk products, bread and eggs onto the various trucks that would go throughout the valley and surrounding towns. We were to stack our loads for the hand carts as high as possible, hopefully as high as we could reach up and hold in place with one hand while we guided the hand cart with the other up the ramp and into the truck. Right off I dumped my very first load off the side of the ramp and onto the ground below. That first night was the hardest job I had ever had in my life. When I got home that night, I told my wife that I really didn’t think I could continue this job. I was so sore that I thought I couldn’t hurt in that many places. I went back the next night expecting the worst. Believe it or not, I got through another night. Each night got easier and after a while it became a routine.
Our house was about 10 miles north of the warehouse. I had to drive home after work, get a few hours of sleep and then drive the 20 miles to Tempe, where I went to school. Some of my classes started at 7:45 in the morning so I didn’t get much sleep. I learned to sleep between classes and also to speed read. None of my term papers were very long. I did pay a lot of attention in class and took good notes. I was able to get through school this way and graduate from Arizona State in 1962 with a Bachelor Degree in Secondary Education.’
During these same years his family grew to five with the addition of a son and two daughters. He was recruited to teach at a Technical school in Nevada, where he moved his small family. He began teaching metal shop and welding. Even though he never welded, he had done a fair amount of sheet metal work in a past job. That summer before starting his new teaching job he took a course and learned how to weld. When I read this part I thought, who is this guy who takes a job, to teach something he has to go learn, so he can teach it? This is an example of an innate confidence he had in himself that I saw throughout his writings. I have to believe that much of this confidence came from the many tasks he did as a boy. I guess he figured he learned how to do all those other jobs, so how hard could it be to learn something else, which of course, is exactly what he did.
‘When I first got to Reno High to begin my teaching, I found that they were offering three years in Sheet Metal and Welding. I had students in a third year program and a lot of the equipment was foreign to me. My third year class only had about 10 students in it so I divided them up and assigned each pair or group a specific piece of equipment to hook up, test it out, and then demonstrate it to the rest of the class. I told the third year students, that if they were using the equipment for the third year, they should know by now how to use it and would prove it by demonstrating it to the rest of us. Yes, I mean us. I was the best listener in the class. Like I say, I learned a lot the first year.’
To be continued…
"It was summer and I was working for my brother on his farm. We were harvesting grain and had a break-down with the threshing machine. I was under the machine and had just taken a part off when it dropped and fell on my right foot. It was smarting like crazy and I was hobbling around when my oldest brother drove into the yard. He had another man with him. He said, “H this is your father.” Of course I didn’t know him and besides, I didn’t really care for him anyway. My foot was hurting badly, so I just took off for the house to give it some attention. I guess they stayed and talked I don’t know."
I know little about Uncle H’s father, my grandfather. I personally only remember seeing him once. I have heard a few stories and most of the stories do not flatter him. Recently, my mother recalled to me a scene. She was standing on the porch by the back door and her brother R was in the corral. Her dad was on the outside of the corral swinging a bull whip. My uncle R was agile and doing a pretty good job using the posts and poles of the corral to avoid the long whip. Mom says she was scared and ran inside for help and doesn’t know if her brother was ever hit.
When she told me this story I wondered who else knew the story as I had never heard it before. Families are interesting that way with their secrets. I suppose often the secrets are kept hidden because it is just too painful to talk about, or maybe the shame keeps the secrets hidden under cover. My mother was quite young when this happened and maybe that is why I never heard it.
Every family seems to have at least one quirky uncle, aunt or maybe a grandpa. Uncle H’s grandfather was a Mennonite traveling preacher (evangelist). As he aged he became legally blind, the problem - he refused to stop driving.
“Grandpa was legally blind the last ten years of his life. Even though he could no longer read his Bible, he still preached and could recite scripture from memory. He also still drove a car even after his eye sight was really bad. I remember one time when he was coming to our house to visit Mom and he almost drove over me. I was walking home from school and heard a car coming up from behind but since I was so far off the side of the road I thought all was well. For some reason, I looked around at the last minute and he was right behind me. I dove for the ditch and he barely missed me. When I got home, I asked him why he tried to run me over. He said he never even saw me. He said he always tried to stay far to the right in case any cars were coming his way." Now, there is someone who should not be driving. It seems that a simple act of hiding his keys would have solved the problem after all he was blind and would not have been able to find them.
In a farm community a man is most known by his work ethic. One might hear, “Yip, that Slim Jenkins, he holds his own”. Or one might hear about Larry Loafer, he’s a good guy, just not very dependable. My uncle H talks about his hardest jobs. They were always when he had to follow behind one of his brothers. Uncle H was often hired based on his brother’s good work ethic.
“The only times that I couldn't quite do a job as well as expected was when I was following a job that one of my older brothers had done previously. The employers were so enamored by the work my brothers had done that I had a tough time living up to the expectations. It wasn't for lack of effort.”
One last event to mention before leaving Uncle H’s school years. The family was poor but seemed to find a way to send several of the children to the Mennonite High School in Kansas. This was done a couple of ways. My mother tells how when she was ready to start her ninth grade year in high school the tradition had been for each child to stay out a year to work. The income was always turned over to the family and it helped pay the way for those who were still in school. My mother ended up staying out two years and therefore did not graduate from high school until she was twenty years old. In addition the ones in school usually had after school jobs, especially the boys. With all this effort they were still poor and this fact apparently was obvious, causing my Uncle H to stand out.
“It was during my senior year at Hesston that I was walking across the campus and my cousin, Junior, came out to meet me on the grass and said his Dad, wanted me to go to town with him on Saturday. When I met my Uncle Floyd that Saturday he said he was taking me to town so I could pick out some new clothes. I suppose I looked pretty ragged to him. Anyway, I was somewhat embarrassed and actually didn’t know how to go about buying clothes. I had never done this before in my life. He insisted that I pick out whatever I wanted since he was buying. I finally picked out one pull over shirt. It was blue and turned out to be a little tight for me, since I never tried it on. I was ready to quit, but finally gave in and picked out a pair of pants also. I felt like I was mooching from him and refused to buy any more, even though he wanted me to. We always wore clothes until they were unpatchable or really worn out, so I guess I felt mine were still okay. Mom was quite good at patching clothes. I will never forget this gesture from my Uncle, even though he didn’t remember it when I talked to him about it years later.”
To be continued…
Ginger and Uncle H were the main topic two posts back. We are about to find out that Uncle H is not the only one to have a Ginger story. My Great Liberal Brother (GLB) also has a story or two, and here they are.
GLB is much older than I. How much older you ask? Let’s just say if I wanted to be mean, I could call him my Great Ancient Liberal Brother (GALB). In my brother’s defense in regards to his antiquity, I also remember Ginger, although I am not sure if they are actual memories or merely impressions fabricated from the stories I heard.
I should also mention, these stories for the most part have been placed into the Urban Legend category. You see my brother is a liberal and it is a known fact, all liberals exaggerate and often tell flat out lies. We might find out later in this short writing that it is not really his fault he’s a liberal, so let’s all have a little grace on the poor fellow for the moment. I realize that there are at least three readers who might disagree with my conclusions, but heck is it my fault they must have got a bump on their noggins somewhere along the line?
The reason is still unclear by the author how it is that our family gained temporary custody of Ginger. If you want to take the word of my GLB, it is all on you. He says, my uncle and aunt were on a trip and they needed someone to watch the large palomino; that reason is as good as another I suppose.
During the said time Ginger was in our custody; my GLB decided to take Ginger for a ride. At the time he was only eight years old and too short to muster a saddle on the tall horse, therefore he rode bare back. It was only to be a short ride which lends creed to the no saddle option. How the bridle was managed, only an eight year old knows for sure. From a fence post, the side of a wagon or maybe a boost from his older brother who was nine years old, my GLB landed on the back of Ginger. Ginger was no dummy and knew an eight year old was no match for his wily ways. Out of the yard GLB took Ginger. They went into the upper field that had been freshly plowed which ends up being fortunate for GLB. No sooner had Ginger turned the corner into the field then he took the bit in his teeth, thus removing all control from the master eight year old horseman. He took off like he was shot out of a catapult. The little boy hung on to rein and mane for dear life. Ginger streaked across the field, dirt flying high from hoofs. At this point my GLB decided it was time for a new plan. With only the courage, I mean foolishness young boys have, my GLB decide to dismount by letting himself not jump, not fall, but slide off the side of the racing palomino, which of course is exactly what he did. The soft plowed earth gave my GLB a good dusting as he rolled to a stop and watched Ginger head off for who knows where. My GLB was unhurt, so the story goes. I do wonder if he might not have cracked his head, after all he grew up and became a liberal.
The actual crack in the head probably happened a few days or hours later. Now my GLB has always been known for being smart but I do have to wonder from this next Ginger experience how smart he really is. If I had slid off a galloping horse because he took off on me, it would be a good piece of time before I got back on him.
My father had the mumps and was in bed. This required my mother and oldest brother to do the milking, leaving free time for GLB to be unsupervised; a very bad idea. He of course, as you guessed decided to ride Ginger once more bareback. This time he was using the horse to tormenting his five year old sister. She was standing on the stock trailer while GLB rode Ginger at a good gallop right at her (gee I wonder how sister came to be on the stock trailer?). At the last minute GLB would veer off and ride on by her. This of course had all the desired effects, much screaming. How many times these moments of ecstasy were repeated, I do not know. I am pretty sure like most big brothers, he wanted each scare to intensify, so getting a little closer each time was a requirement. The last scare ended abruptly. Just as GLB was ready to turn Ginger to the left, Ginger did an emergency stop. GLB shot over Ginger’s head as smooth as if he was a blob of milk being squirted straight from the teat of a cow. GLB’s head stopped his fall when it contacted the steel tongue of the stock trailer.
My mother had a policy, no blood, no doctor. How GLB managed this feat without drawing blood is beyond me. My mother had another policy, no fever or barf, then, ‘get to school’. My mother received a phone call the next day from the school teacher saying GLB’s eyes looked wrong. The teachers report was enough for mother to take GLB to the doctor. Thus a diagnosis and a doctor’s cure – a severe concussion and bed rest for two weeks.
Now a tale has been told and it is clear, my GLB did indeed fall on his head, resulting in him becoming a liberal.
So, here is my question - Dianne, Betty, and Arkansas Patti, did ya’all fall on your head at some point?
Uncle H will return on the next post…I promise.
