After talking

with my dad last weekend, it seems I had several misconceptions about

him growing up.

My parents

had a large family, four boys, one girl, two dogs, and a green parakeet

that ate hushpuppies off Dad's head. The first misconception was the reason

we had a garden every year. I thought it was for additional food to feed

the family. Come to find out, this was not the reason Dad spent so much

time in the garden. No, not at all.

Dad had a lot

of mouths to feed and not much money. That's why every year he had a large

garden - or so I thought. The house we grew up in sat on top of a hill,

and down behind it, at the bottom of the back yard, was the swamp.

Dad always

had his garden in the large, open, sunny space in front of the swamp.

The dirt was black, and just about anything would grow there. Sometimes

he would throw seeds down and kick dirt on them just to see if they would

grow, and they always did. He would spend 30 minutes every night and hours

out there on the weekends working pulling weeds ("getting the green

out"), staking up the tomatoes (back then he did not know about my

upside-down tomatoes), stringing up beans, picking and planting the vegetables

- all to feed the four boys, one girl, and The Mom waiting back up the

hill.

Right? Wrong.

Come to find out, Dad had plenty of money to feed us when we were growing

up after all. He told me the truth last weekend. He spent all of that

time in the garden just for a little peace of mind, and a few moments

away from four boys, one girl and The Mom. The second misconception was

even more startling than the first - the real reason why we were all in

competitive sports.

For five years,

the entire time we were in high school, we went from football to wrestling

and to track with not a three-day break between them. "Stay in sports

year-round, and you'll stay in shape year-round," my dad always said.

Come to find

out, staying in shape wasn't the only reason for him wanting us to stay

in sports. He said that when we were in sports, life would be more pleasant

around the house. After eight hours of school, two hours of football,

wrestling, or track practice, we were too tired to do anything but shower,

eat, do homework, and go to bed. None of us had any energy left over to

argue, fight or get into trouble. "When you were in sports, you were

nicer to be around, and you never got into trouble - you didn't have the

time," he said.

My son goes

from football to weightlifting to track; he's nice to be around and doesn't

get into trouble. (Maybe Dad had a good idea after all.) But the thought

that we never had time to get into trouble wasn't quite true - there was

always the summer. And there's plenty of time to get into trouble during

the long summer.

One summer,

we four boys Big Brother James, Twin Brother Mark, Older Brother Richard,

and I were playing down by the swamp. We found an old tractor tire on

the edge of the swamp and dragged it out, cleaned it up and took it to

the top of the hill. One of us would roll it back down the hill while

the rest of us played Dodge the Giant Tractor Tire. (We seem to make up

these games when we were bored and had too much time on our hands - usually

during the summer.) We did this all afternoon until Big Brother James

got what seemed to be his greatest idea yet - Giant-Tractor-Tire-Ride.

He said, "I

bet one of us can climb inside it and roll all the way down the hill and

not get hurt. As long as we keep our heads, arms and legs inside the tire,

we'll be okay."

I asked, "What

if we hit the rocks at the bottom of the hill?"

"It'll

be all right; the tire's made of rubber so you'll just bounce off. Trust

me you'll be safe and won't get hurt."

"Oh no",

I thought, "There were those words again." (Big Brother James

always said, "Trust me you'll be safe and won't get hurt" right

before someone got hurt.) Before I could say anything else, he climbed

into the giant tractor tire and rolled down the hill, hit the rocks, went

airborne, landed, and rolled another ten feet before stopping just short

of the swamp. Big Brother James was laughing when we reached the bottom

of the hill - none the worse for wear from his Giant-Tractor-Tire-Ride.

We all took turns rolling down the hill inside the giant tractor tire

and having the best time of our life. That is, until The Sister came out.

The Sister

walked out into the back yard and asked, "What are y'all doing? Can

I play?"

We told her

that we were playing Giant-Tractor-Tire-Ride and if she wanted to play,

she must promise not to get hurt. We explained to her what to do, "Just

keep your head, arms, and legs inside the tire until you stop rolling,

and you'll be okay." She promised she would be careful, so we let

her play.

Bad idea. The

Sister climbed into the tire and rolled down the hill. As she reached

the bottom of the hill, she missed the rocks but hit the only tree on

the edge of the swamp. The tire fell over, and she broke her ankle in

two places. My three brothers ran down the hill to help her out of the

tire and carry her