"Before This Night Is Over"

Blind dates are, hands down, one of the worst forms of punishment known to man (or woman). Especially if the people involved are "younger." Double, blind dates are even worse. But, the absolute worst of all possible scenarios for an evening out is a blind date that is also a, "first date."

Such was the case with one particular April night in 1974.

Scott Thomas would never have been mistaken for Tom Cruise. Not even in a Lonely Hearts Club Class Reunion for "the sensory impaired" (politically correct term for, "the blind"). In a police lineup including George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Matt Damon, identifying Scott Thomas would be an "automatic." 



By the time he was twelve years old, Scott was tall, raw-boned, and clumsy as a yearling. He had a head full of flaming red hair, and a face covered with freckles. He wore Dickey work jeans and insulated hunting boots to high school - in the middle of downtown Atlanta - during the hippie-dominated culture of the 1970's (when NOBODY would be caught DEAD in such attire).



When Scott talked it was like listening to Gomer Pyle, Briscoe Darling, and Larry the Cable Guy all in one voice. If a baying coon dog could speak in a human voice or language, the sound would be remarkably similar to Scott's.



From boyhood, Scott invented all sorts of interesting phrases. These utterances likely meant nothing, but sounded slick - at least to him. For instance, if you passed him in the hall on the way to class, he would answer your greeting with a high-pitched, "Aww-Gaww." No one ever asked him to translate. Those of us who regularly heard him talk concluded that this must be Scott's way of equalling the catchy phrases of the time such as, "Right On!," or, "Far Out, Man!"

When something really impressed him, Scott would almost always do two things. First, he would stick out his hand for a "low-five." Second, in a hybrid sort of yodel, he would growl things like, "Daddy Rabbit!," "Boy, Howdy," or, his most common reply, "Puhhh-Teee-Gawww." Those of us who knew him best were reasonably certain the latter of these meant, "Pretty Good!" 


On most days Scott smelled like "Cooter," his extremely German Shepherd. Cooter lived a long, German Shepherd. outdoor dog, life. As with his owner, Cooter probably never knew what is was like to bathe regularly. You could usually smell him coming a few blocks away. Again, like dog, like owner.

Scott obviously missed "Health Science" in high school - especially on the day(s) when Coach Dan Kennerly talked about personal male hygiene. When Scott went hunting, he never had to wear manufactured scents, such as deer urine, in order to attract white tail buck. His natural odor was sufficient. They all seemed to accept him as kin.



One other trait of Scott's was the annoying performance of an unusual head movement. The movement consisted of two animated blinks of the eyes, three rapid shakes of the head, and a twitch of the mouth - always to the right side. It was assumed that he picked up this quirk as a little boy, and never outgrew it.

Usually, the maneuver was performed swiftly and with great frequency, especially if Scott was excited or in a highly agitated state.

Given such qualities, it was highly unlikely that Scott's dance card was ever going to be full on any given Saturday night.

Scott's best friend was Ricky Stephens. They had been neighborhood running buddies since elementary school. Ricky was a handsome, dark-complected young man about the same age and grade level as Scott. Ricky could have had any number of young fillies as his steady were it not for his extreme shyness. He wound up marrying perhaps the second of third girl he ever dated.



This brings the story to the, "mother of all dates."



One Saturday afternoon in April of 1974, Scott was outside playing "fetch" with Cooter when his mother came to the door and said that Ricky was on the phone. As soon as Scott picked up the receiver, Ricky asked, "What are you doing tonight?" When he affirmed that he was, indeed, free, Ricky said, "Good, be ready about 6:30, man...We're going on a double date."



Ricky went on to explain how that earlier that afternoon he had finally convinced Sherry Metcalf to go out with him. Sherry was a cute little brunette with cat-eye glasses, and lived right up the street from him. Like Ricky, she was a bit on the shy side - but had a great body, and had gotten a reputation as perhaps the best kisser in the Riverside community. This most likely came from her performance during Saturday night, neighborhood schoolmate, sessions of, "Five Minutes In Heaven" ("FMIH").



"FMIH" was a very popular game. Far more so than the old, time-worn, "Spin The Bottle." In "FMIH," two lucky contestants got to go into a nearby closet or spare bedroom and, with the door shut and locked down tight, experience the sweetness of making out with someone of the opposite sex. The spin of a soft drink bottle chose one's partner for the glorious journey into "FMIH."

It was during one of these memorable sessions with Sherry Metcalf that Ricky had fallen hopelessly in love.



Sherry's acceptance of Ricky's invitation for a date was contingent on him finding a date for Sherry's cousin Judy, who was visiting from Valdosta with her parents. During their phone conversation, Ricky's questions about cousin Judy included the obligatory, "What does she look like?"

"She's outgoing, smart, and has a great personality," Sherry declared, somewhat defensively. Like all guys, Ricky understood Sherry's answer. It was female code for, "My cousin bears a strong resemblance to a moose!"



Instead of balking at such a description, Ricky immediately thought of Scott. "Don't worry, I've got just the fellow," Ricky promised, "they will be perfect for each other...Can ya'll be ready about 7:00?"



Ricky hung up the phone before Sherry could ask any questions about Scott.

"What does she look like?," was the first question out of Scott's mouth, later, as Ricky picked him up for the date. "I don't exactly know," Ricky explained, "but from what I hear she's got a bodacious 'rack' on her," (this was NOT the same idea as the earlier "moose" image of cousin Judy).



This writer staunchly upholds what the Word of God says about modesty and appropriate dress. His daughters were taught these things, and were regularly encouraged by both of their parents to avoid dressing in ways that would move any young man to lust. With that said, it is simply a fact that many young, southern males are motivated to overlook even the most glaring facial imperfections in a young lady, just as long as the girl's bosom is both sizable and scantily clad.

When Ricky finished explaining the potential of cousin Judy's anatomical features, there was really only one thing Scott could say...

"Aww-Gaww!"

When the guys arrived at Sherry's, Ricky was sweating it. He had high hopes that cousin Judy would sport at least some cleavage so Scott would not say something embarrassing, or else be so disappointed that he would turn and go back home. Too, Ricky wanted Scott's focus to remain in the back seat. That way, he and Sherry could have some uninterrupted moments of anatomical discovery of their own.



What a relief it was when the girls answered the door. Sherry looked great! And, cousin Judy, well, let's just say that she was everything both young men had hoped for, and about three cup sizes more. A rather skimpy halter top confirmed this fact.



Cousin Judy was nobody's Miss America, but it was obvious to all that Mother Nature had blessed her in ways that a young man could well appreciate and be drawn to.

From the first moment Scott laid eyes on cousin Judy and her figure, his countenance glowed - and his head began with the spasms and movements he was famous for. Even a dating novice like Scott Thomas understood what a fine specimen of "female" tissue this was. "Looks like old 'daddy rabbit' hit the jackpot tonight!," Scott loudly murmured in Ricky's ear as the four of them bounded off Sherry's front porch.


Piling into the 1968 Ford Fairlane that belonged to Ricky's daddy, they sped off to the local drive-in. A double feature of Godzilla flicks was on the bill for that weekend. "Five Minutes In Heaven" couldn't have held a candle to what this particular evening was promising. Little did anyone know that the ride to the drive-in would turn out to be more like, "Five Minutes In A Much Hotter Place Than Heaven."



Ricky's evening as chauffeur for the foursome was a busy one. He nervously alternated between looking at Sherry, watching the road, and checking the rear view mirror to see what was happening in the back seat. 

The girls were giggling and chattering away. And, Scott hadn't said one word since they got in the car. His eyes, though, were speaking volumes!



"Don't stare at them," Ricky whispered to himself, as he looked back and saw Scott glaring at the upper torso paradise sitting next to him. Trying to snap Scott out of his trance, Ricky looked back said, "Hey Scott, tell Judy about that twelve pointer you killed back last Fall!" Ricky was not about to allow Scott to offend or ignore cousin Judy. After all, no cousin Judy, no Sherry!



As they rode, suddenly and without warning, Scott slid over in the seat, snaked his arm around cousin Judy, and pulled her close enough for her to be overcome by the smell of "Cooter." About this time, Ricky had to stop at a traffic light. The drone of the tires quieted. Too, almost on cue, the radio suddenly went silent. All things had fallen into place.

Sensing that something monumental was about to happen, Ricky's heart went into his throat. Sherry turned around in the front seat to say something to cousin Judy, who had turned to look up at Scott, nervously trying to anticipate his next move.

What followed could rightly be called the, "Mother of all blind date remarks."

With his head twitching and gyrating, Scott looked down into cousin Judy's eyes, pointed the index finger of his huge, right hand toward cousin Judy's chest, and boldly proclaimed for all to hear...

 "Before this night is over, I am gonna' git them t_ _t_ _s!"



The thick, steel walls of that old Ford Fairlane kept the surrounding cars and pedestrians from hearing the emotionally charged reaction to Scott Thomas' revelation. The only sound that could be heard was Sherry's voice - screaming at Ricky to turn the car around and take them home!

After the passing of so many years, this writer cannot remember if the Riverside rumor mill ever recounted a second date for Ricky and Sherry. But evidently, the couple in the back seat on that fateful night actually did get a second shot at discovering one another's charms.

For now, over thirty years later, Scott and "cousin Judy" Thomas have three boys of their own!
 Each being the spitting-image of their, "Daddy Rabbit!"

Aww-Gaww!




"Well I'll Be John Brown..."

- David Decker
(May 7, 2005)


1 Comments:
Donna A. said...
"Great story!"

"Mama Went Green Before 'Going Green' Was Cool"

Nowadays, everybody is, "going green." Like a lot of other things that humans do, the whole trendy, fad-driven, obsession with "green" this and "green" that, has become in some ways a badge of one's being cool and hip. In essence, it is little more than a politically correct mask camouflaging a radically-driven, "environmentalist" mindset.

Folks who, "go green," seem to pride themselves on buying recycled stuff (some of the "stuff" out there that has already been used once, this fat boy does NOT want to use a second time). They also prefer to  patronize businesses and products who claim that they too have "gone green," and they refuse to embrace things like styro-foam fast food containers, plastic Walmart bags, light bulbs that really do give sufficient light to a room, and household chemicals of yesteryear such as chlordane (even though it is the ONLY chemical that really does "kill back" pesky insects and termites). Just one more reason to overturn at the ballot box the bane of over-reaching governmental dominance - like the so-called, "EPA."

In reality, the only "green" the environmentalist buzzards are truly concerned about is the growing transfer of the "green" from your pockets and mine to their own. The planet, the atmosphere, and all things related could just as well go to torment on a fast train as far as they are concerned. The "green" craze is all about money - pure and simple!

Long before the trendy, politically correct types hi-jacked the "green" world and took the rest of us hostage in it, Mama was already there. To borrow the hook from country icon, Barbara Mandrell, Mama was green before "green" was cool. But, Mama's version of "green" was anything but cool. Especially to a young man who had a lot on his budding, excitement-hungry, teenage plate.

Mama went "green" every school year with our clothes. She would either recycle last year's school clothes, or take us down to the local Salvation Army Store and buy us the "green" used clothing off the racks. In the late 1960's and early 1970's, and especially in high school social circles all over the city of Atlanta, styles like the patented Izod Alligator were all you needed to make the right fashion statement, and to be cool and "in style." Folks would unapologetically wear "puke green" shirts, sweaters, and even pants (ask this writer how he knows) as long as that little embroidered reptile was clearly visible.

When parents, and especially one's mother, have "gone green," it is NOT likely that Izod Alligators are part of the wardrobe agenda for her offspring. That little alligator did not live down at the Salvation Army Store, nor in the clothes that Mama sewed and made for us during the times that she REALLY went "green."

Mama also went "green" every Spring and Summer.

Just about every March, Mama's normally sweet and docile demeanor morphed into being something far more frightening than anything Stephen King ever conceived.

Mama's warm weather "green" crusade involved intense Spring cleaning, and continual Summertime maintenance. Things like scrubbing the bathroom tile with a toothbrush, mowing grass with a push mower or sling blade (John-Deere-riding-lawnmower-"Green" didn't live at our house), trimming shrubs, picking up dead limbs, planting flowers, cleaning out gutters, washing out trash cans, sweeping the driveway (the only "blowers" were the gasps of air you inhaled and exhaled while helping Mama "go green"), and just about anything else that meant a veritable chain-gang-like sentence of house and yard work.

As the months of Mama's environmentalist hysteria rolled along, the "green" tornado moved indoors. Her children were subjected to a seemingly endless flurry of chores which included, cleaning out closets, painting the walls of "your room" to cover up the girls' phone numbers you had scribbled there during the school year, airing out mattresses and throw rugs, taking down and washing every curtain in the house, rearranging furniture, and "deep cleaning" the stove, all the kitchen cabinets, and the refrigerator.

The "deep cleaning" concept was all but lost on this writer. Cleaning is cleaning, period. But, a Mama-gone-green "knew" deep cleaning. And, she took seriously her mission of ensuring that her children, however begrudgingly, knew it too. If Mama was "going green," she was obviously determined not to go there by herself.

Part of Mama's yearly voyage into the land of "green" included helping us kids get the "green" off our teeth, bodies, and hair. Mama would inspect our ears, our skin and scalp (for scabies, lice and bed bugs, mostly), the mouth and the teeth (for sores and cavities), and even underarms and between toes.

At least a part of what she was searching for were signs of the "relaxed" standard of personal hygiene often evidenced in young, Southern males. Just like the story of the young boy who went to summer youth camp during the "Dog Days" of August. One day, a camp counselor happened to walk through one of the bathhouses and found this boy standing in the shower area, vigorously scrubbing the cinder block walls with an unused bar of soap. When the counselor asked the reason for this behavior, the boy matter-of-factly responded that if he didn't scrub off the soap's brand logo indented in the side of the bar, his mother would know that he hadn't showered during his two-week stay at camp. Never mind that there were other "environmental" signs (i.e., intense "boy" B.O.) that would be a dead giveaway of his mindless rouse.

One other facet of Mama's being a forerunner of the contemporary "green" movement occurred without warning during this writer's upbringing. Long before there was a James Dobson with his "Dare To Discipline" mantra, and long before there were so-called mental/medical conditions like ADD, ADHD, ODD, and the "wonder" drug known as Ritalin, and long before there were street gangs and rampant juvenile delinquency in this writer's beloved home town, there was Mama.

The memory is vividly keen with images of her rushing out to the shrubs and trees, talking passionately under her breath as she went, and walking with the gait of a fireman hurrying to put out a raging inferno.

When Mama went "green" in this way, her children usually looked for a place to hide.

When she returned from this "green" pilgrimage, in her hand was a sizable portion of the environment - a "green" limb from either a small tree or a trusty shrub. Pulling the limb off at its base with an almost effortless, Schwarzenegger-like strength, Mama stripped the limb of its "green" foliage. As she headed back to the house, she would boisterously call out all three names of the offending child/children. This was designed to alert all other neighborhood children that, as Bill Cosby once said, the, "beatings were about to begin."

"Going green" for Mama in this way meant, without fail, that the offending child's legs would soon "go red" from the whelps inflicted during her parentally "green" tirade.    

Just another in a long list of environmentally-based lessons learned during the short years of having Mama as our beloved teacher.

In the end, Mama went "green" one last time. On that day, we carried her to the beloved, Northwest Alabama, coal-mining, community where she grew up. We carefully laid her to rest beneath the beautiful green grass of that hallowed old country cemetery where, as a boy, this writer often played among the tombstones and graves of family who were buried there.

It was early May when we took Mama's body home. The grass, the flowers, and and the trees were blooming everywhere. And, one would hope that Mama, in her new body and in her new home, was, and still is to this day, finding everything beautiful, alive with eternal freshness, and forever "green" - just like The Good Book says.

Mama, thank you for teaching us how to live, how to treat other people, how to love God, how to take care of the routine things of this life that must be done, and how to remember you with such love and fondness in our hearts. You "went green," just like so many other things you did, before the rest of us knew how cool all those things really were.

We love you, Mama, and we miss you here...

"Well I'll Be John Brown..."

- David Decker
  January 29, 2011