I have never met a person who
did not want to flaunt their successes, but very few who would even
bring up a hint of their failures. I guess that is why I have been
reluctant in wanting to admit to you any of my failures. The last
person we want to admit our failures to is ourselves. Once we are
convinced that the world will not stop or governments ceased to run
because of those failures then and only then we just might admit
them to others.
Throughout our lives we face each day and take our small successes
and failures as a matter of living life. Ever once in a while a
great failure or a great success moves us in new directions. We can
learn many things from those moves, but nothing teaches us better or
stays in our memory more than the failures. Sometimes we can look
back on a single failure that defines the rest of our life.
Sometimes we have this failure at a young age and the repercussions
can be overcome with time and experience. Some failures come to us
late in life and we seem to want to kick ourselves for not knowing
better than to let it happen.
I think that my greatest failure came upon me over a matter of time.
Kind of laid dormant, worked its way through my life, then reared
its ugly head one morning as I was looking at my reflection in the
bathroom while I was shaving. It took me a minute to actually
realize that every day I had gazed back at the mirror and never
realized what a failure I was.
Before I go any further let me say for the most part my life has
been successful enough to be retired and living a spoiled life in a
very comfortable home. I really want for little. While my health
doesn’t let me go skydiving I am enjoying my senior years.
My big failure could over shadow that life if I would let it, but
maybe if I may use my readers as my confessor, then maybe I can put
this behind me for good.
My great failure was being a hillbilly. Born and raised in West
Virginia there are certain protocols that must be met and kept by a
person in order to be called a hillbilly.
I never owned a pickup. I am not talking about the twenty inch
wheels with the seven foot tall tires with step ladder to just reach
the cab. No gun rack in the back with a 12 gage pump complete with a
telescopic sight. Not even a street standard 150 Ford.
I never made or even helped to make home made whiskey. Although it
has been rumored in the past that there were those in my family who
did, they kept it from me.
Never was chased by the feds, but I once owned a 56’ Ford with a
police special interceptor engine that I think would have given them
a run for their money.
I never went on welfare. There were times when I wish I had. I sure
could have used the extra money. Never went down to the station to
pick up commodity cheese. I have eaten it and bought it from people
who would sell it. It was good and good for you. I even knew a
restaurant who served up the best grilled cheese sandwiches using
it. I knew a man who could name you off 30 different uses for it… I
mean besides eating it.
I never had any thoughts about marrying a close relative. I mean
everyone has that one cousin that everybody thinks is cute, but when
they run off with another cousin you are really relieved that they
I never spent any time in jail. Oh, when I was a kid Sam Meades, our
town policeman, took me around and left me in the lock up for a
couple of hours to let me know what it would be like if I did. There
were a few times, like the annual dock cutting at Camp Greenbrier
got a little out of hand, when that could have gone either way,
thankfully one of the gang I was with had some influence with the
local town fathers.
I hope no one will look down their nose at me and think less of me
for my hillbilly short comings. My only regret is they no longer
make that commodity cheese.