According to a few pros on helping independent authors get their name and works out to the whole wide world (cause Amazon really does) - they suggest authors do an online resume. After that...they gave no further assistance, so, this country boy turned author (would blow my late parents' minds...I didn't do too well in school. I did learn to play baseball, surf, and dance....with the cuties) liked the idea, so he decided to shoot from the hip. I hope you like this omitted segment from my resume. Here goes...keep smilin'...it's 100% true.
FACTS OMITTED FROM MY RESUME
GUILTY OF FORGERY?
The question is; does the one-time, immature action of a person impersonating another person 'on paper' make that person a forger? Will that person be subject to live with the reputation of 'a forger'? I sure hope not, but until I'm positive, I'll leave this true story out of my online resume.
The year was 1963, I was a seventh grader, and for the previous six school years, made A's & B's. But so many things changed for me during that year. One being the sudden onset of 'puberty'. Amazing how something unseen can overtake a young guy, turn him upside down, and transform him overnight. It's true!
Mr. Puberty possessed the power to turn my focus on life in a totally different direction, like a U-turn. Wow! My school work and grades, unfortunately, were not in said direction. Nope, they were replaced with girls, baseball, and music. And honestly, I had no problem with that, but I should have because my parents certainly did.
Anyway, on the next to last report card period, yours truly brought home two D's. And those two letters would throw me into a tailspin and potentially mess up my welcomed relationship with Mr. Puberty. I couldn't allow that to happen, heck no, we were getting along very nicely. Why shouldn't we? My new pal had all kinds of neat ideas and suggestions that I really, really enjoyed. So, I was forced to do something...drastic, since my parents were too smart to fall for an excuse I seriously pondered - 'the grades were Mr. Puberty's fault'.
What really prompted me to go 'drastic'? I'll share it with you. As my grades that year had begun to slip into the average or C region, my father noticed and given me a fair warning, which was nice of him, but I didn't heed it. "Son, you have the ability to make very good grades, but you're not studying like you should. Your mind's somewhere else. So, if you come home with any D's or F's, you'll not be allowed to play little league this summer." Well, that got my attention...but Mr. Puberty again diverted my focus. Then report card day arrived. Those two darn D's were going to ruin my summer. Now that's a true case of immaturity, I know that now, but it really wasn't the fault of those two harmless letters, nope, it was Mr. Puberty's fault. Just kidding, it was my fault. So I came up with an idea that would allow me to play ball with the Courthouse Jets and avoid six weeks of restriction. Here's what I did.
Our report cards, back in the day, were actually booklets with about four pages. So, students carried the report cards home and had their parents sign them, then we returned them to our teachers. (I had two teachers in the seventh grade.) Then the teachers would use them again for the next period. But, puberty-stricken Lee failed to think any farther along than that day.
With a dab of spit on the pencil eraser (no ink erasers back then) I turned that pesky D into a beautiful B. I checked it over for a couple of minutes with nervous eyes and sweat rolling down my skinny back. I felt the forgery was fine. Well, I was totally wrong. My parents were smart. I was stupid, so stupid that when my father asked me 'are you sure you received B's in History and Math?', I nodded and replied, "Yes, sir."
Okay, this is only a small description of everything that happened. The full story "Report Card" is contained in my short story compilations: 'Beach Shorts' and 'If You Dance...You Will...Pay the Fiddler'. Available in paperback from this website or Amazon, as is the ebook from Amazon.
Anyway, I learned my lesson, the hard way. And this episode of my life will remain omitted from my resume. At least for now. Thank you for sharing your time. All comments are welcome via email: Sandbridgeauthor@cox.net or on Facebook: Lee Carey. Keep smilin'...
MY FIRST APPEARANCE ON TELEVISION - 1963
My first appearance on television - came in television's teen years, and mine, too. Yep, I was a proud member of the Virginia Beach 4-H Club. I was just shy of 13. Anyway, somebody knew somebody who knew somebody, and I was invited to bring, Buddy, my Hereford steer, on the local show called (pretend I'm announcing this to a whole bunch of people) "THE - WARREN - HULL - SHOW". I accepted cause I was darn proud of my 'like a pet', Buddy, plus, I was a television virgin...and I didn't want to be one any longer...made no difference that we weren't even paid! We still went, thanks to Mr. C.J. Lee, the breeder, who had a nice trailer and was also proud enough to tote us from the farm into downtown Norfolk.
Picture this; remember, this is the early days of TV, no green screen on this set, no, sireee. Bright, great big, lights, hotter than the embers in the far corner of Hell. A shiny, like a mirror, linoleum floor...and basically, that's it, friend. Doesn't matter to me and Buddy. He was a beautiful specimen of a Hereford, weighing about 740 pounds. I topped out at a 'wet' 115 pounds and stood a whoppin' five-foot-four, but my Buddy behaved like a puppy. So, we come in the back loading door at the station, we strut in like it's our own barn. Oh, I wore a straw cowboy hat, tight dungarees, and boots. I was Stumpy Lake stylin'...
Mr. Warren Hull comes out on stage, dressed in a suit fit for church, behind the pulpit, too. He knew no more about the 4-H or a steer than a hoot owl trying to fly fish, in fact, he asked me what a steer was. Now imagine a country boy (in the hurricane of puberty) trying to tell this older man, the host of his own show, about why Buddy was shootin' blanks. Honestly, I've forgotten how I replied to Mr. Hull, but I hope he got the picture.
Then he asked how I trained Buddy to be so tame and mind so well. I've forgotten what I said. For a thirty-minute show, I'd have never finished with everything that went into me and Buddy becoming best friends. We were just having fun on local television.
The worst question was; 'after the 4-H show, there's an auction, and someone will buy Buddy. How do you feel about that?'. Now, I again don't recall what my exact answer was, but I certainly found out a few months later, yep, I sure did. (You can find out more about Buddy and what happened, cause it's one of six true short stories in my compilation titled "If You Dance...You Will Pay the Fiddler", available on Amazon for Ereaders and also in paperback. Or, you can get a signed paperback copy for a darn good price from this very website under 'Lee's Novel's'. (Thank you for bearing with me while I tossed in a commercial).
Okay, time to put Buddy in the trailer and take him back to his stall and a bucket of molasses and corn, but before we go...you gotta hear about Buddy signing off of the 'Warren Hull Show'...cause he did...in cursive, too. Here 'tis....
It was near the end of the show. Buddy had been so good...it scared me, but he let me know he was still in control. I was in the middle of answering another question, when suddenly, a familiar fragrance wafted up beneath my cowboy hat and into my nostrils. I didn't have to look behind Buddy to know what he'd done...but I figured he'd dropped about three cow pies on that shiny floor. Splat-splat-splat. Mr. Hull noticed, too, but didn't attempt to eyeball Buddy's deposit. I finished the question, the cameraman held up five fingers, then began to count them down...and...poof! The show was over, finished, complete. So was my Buddy.
I'm a little country, a little beach bum, a retired business owner (Purina Feed Store) for twenty years, an ex-softball player (SS and Third Base), surfer, sky diver, fisherman, shagger (dancing to beach music), and author of nine novels and two compilations of short stories, and I've got a wonderful wife/editor and a rescued pooch named Angel.
Thank you for reading this. If you think this story, along with the others that I'll post over the next few days, should be in my online resume for new readers to learn about this author and maybe want to read his novels, let me know via email: firstname.lastname@example.org or on Facebook: Lee Carey
COMING IN A FEW DAYS: I'M GUILTY OF FORGERY
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