SPOTLIGHT IN CAROLINE

Writing letters to family and friends is becoming a lost art. I recently wrote a letter to my Aunt Margaret because she doesn't have a computer. I think that she appreciated it a lot. She said she cried a little when she saw the picture of my dad that I had imbedded into the letter. I have decided that I would start writing letters more often to those that might appreciate it (but then again, maybe not). A letter from me is far less annoying than all that advertising that we get in our mail boxes (or maybe not). Since I have been at home more often now, and stay here weeks at a time without leaving the farm, I thought it only best to doing something other than chores and prospecting for oil and gas (which is what I earn an income from). I'll give you a little glimpse of my days as a child on the farm in Caroline.
Mom and Dad had bought some land up in Caroline, Alberta with my Uncle Ed and Aunt Mary Jones in the early '60's. As a kid, that held no significance to me. I had bought candy with friends and we would pool our money together to buy a bag of 'Niggar Babies' as they were called then. They were delicious black (duh!) liquorish shaped like babies (wonder who the sick bastard was that thought that up?). (NOTE: that would be one hell of a Trivial Pursuit question wouldn't it?) My Uncle Bob and Aunt Joyce Jones lived on a quarter section about a mile from where the farm was. (Vern and Vie Larsen bought the place and I believe they still live there). Well Dad would take me up with him to visit Uncle Bob and Aunt Joyce from our li'l shack behind Grandma and Grandpa Jones' place, sometimes Mom would go to along with the rest of us rug rats. It was a long drive but it is funny that I can't remember any of the actual trips up to the Caroline area when I was a kid. I can remember being in Caroline or at Uncle Bob's but never the actual trip up. Jeez we must've drove up there a bazillion times too. I can't even remember when Mom hit the ditch and the grader having to pull our 1960 Red and White Rambler four door. (Mom loved that car). Later on in life, the only time that I couldn't remember the actual drive was (and I hate to admit it) when I had too much to drink or I was dogged tired. They call it road hypnotism I call it zoning out or being an idiot behind the wheel, which I found out later is the state in which most drivers in Calgary are in when they are in bumper to bumper traffic. One of my earliest recollections of Caroline was sitting in the car outside the Sportsman Inn (I'm not even sure if it was called that back then). There was 'angle' parking back then in front of the bar on Main Street and Dad parked us a few cars down from the main entrance to the bar. Well, Dad was a very sociable guy and loved to have a beer or two or three and sometimes even more. He worked in construction, what do you expect? A Saint? Anyways, I was sitting patiently as any kid would be in that car for probably what seemed like 17 days waiting for Dad to come out of there and go someplace else. Now it was starting to get dark and I couldn't tell who was coming out the front doors, so what was I to do? I couldn't tell if it was my Dad or not because the lighting was so poor. What if Dad had a few too many and couldn't remember where he had parked the car and the kid? Well, it just so happened that Dad had one of these big kick ass spotlight flashlights that had what looked like a car battery bolted onto them. Not only a car battery bolted on but also a car headlight for a flashlight. So grunting and aiming the 'flashlight' (probably to describe it as a 'Search light used in World War II to spot enemy bombers and fighters would be more appropriate) at the entrance whenever someone would step out, I would 'ignite' the search beacon onto the unsuspecting inebriated patron. The immediate reaction would be one not dissimilar to Whitetails and Muleys as you are barrelling down on them on the highway at night. BUT once the initial shock and fear wore off and their groggy minds clued in that they weren't being abducted by Aliens or they weren't a deer on the highway, THEN their demeanour ( emphasis on mean) would change rapidly. They would holler all sorts of demeaning (emphasis on mean again) profanities at my direction. Fortunately for me they would stagger, weave and forget what they were going to beat the hell out of because I would shut the laser beam down immediately when I realized it wasn't my Dad. UNTIL one guy came out but he didn't forget. He continued hollering at me and shaking his fist. Well for you that have known me my whole life know that I too have a bit of a temper and mean streak. I locked the doors on the car and lifted the laser beam up and hit him straight in the eyes!! He would have thought that I had delivered a near knock out blow to this reeling character. You know the type. They are so drunk that they exaggerate every thing and every movement. Well this guy goes reeling back to the wall and hits it hard, probably hard enough to knock the liquor laden breath out of him for a second or two. If someone was sitting inside the bar and they were sober enough (and I highly doubt that in that place) he would have thought that a car had jumped the curb and tapped the wall with its' bumper. The guy bounces off the wall and comes at the car again, except this guy was really mad now. He was screaming and spittin' and banging his fist on the car. He had his face right up to the windshield. Too bad I didn't have the keys and the foresight, I could've turned on the windshield wipers for effect! Then again maybe it was a good thing that I didn't, he would have ripped those wipers off and shoved them down my left nostril if he could get at me. Instead I used my only weapon of mass destruction afforded to me and shot him right in the eye with the search light again. WOW, did he lose it. I thought that I had a temper, YIKES.!! Maybe that is where I learned it from. That is all I remember from that incident, but I'll always remember his bugged out eyes, the spit flying from his mouth and the spit foaming up around his lips.!! Most kids would have been traumatized for life, and hey, maybe I was but, I think I took it in stride. I know that it wasn't long after that, that I asked Dad if it was okay to swear when I was mad. He said no it wasn't a good thing to do. I said that when I get really mad I needed to scream and holler. He said that if I had to swear to make sure Mom wasn't around (so I didn't swear around her, at least not too much, and that is probably why I kicked a big dent in her all metal doors on her kitchen cabinets. That is a story for another day.
That was my first memory of the town of Caroline. No wonder I was a little nervous going to school there in grade seven. But that too is a story for another day.