Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Remembering 30 years ago today

I'm Bill Orvis White. It was 30 years ago today on a cold Mississippi night when my buddies and me were drinking too much whiskey. Jebby, Crawford and me were in my daddy's old hangar at a table swigging the bad juice while playing with pistols and saying nasty things. We had the Skynyrd blasting as we then-bearded long haired Southern outcasts shot at beer cans while being mad at the world. We didn't care about nothing. Daddy hated me. Mama was disappointed. My childhood friend Roosevelt, my ole African-American friend who was always on the straight and narrow, was disgusted with how I turned out. In those days, I mocked him for his big ole hair (we all looked funnier in those days than we do now) and he just walked away from me muttering what a disgrace Bill Orvis White is to the state of Mississippi and the world. There I was with my ponytail, Billy Beer hat, torn jeans and flannel looking pathetic. It was Jebby's idea to hop into Daddy's 150 to get even more of the Devil's drink. As "Ramblin' Man" was blasting on the truck's speakers with the gun rack rattling, I spun out on Old Highway 49 into a ditch. It wasn't a deer in the headlights. There wasn't any ice. It was stupid ole me behind the wheel with too much whiskey in my system as I spun this beauty of a truck into a ditch. It seemed like that spin-out was lasting forever as we screamed and screamed. I think we were upside down the whole time! When we landing, I thought it was all over. I was blinded by lights as a figured came towards me. He had longer hair and an even bigger beard than me. This man helped me out as he mumbled something in Spanish. Somehow this savior pulled me and my buddies to safety. Then, he disappeared into the cold Mississippi night never to be seen again. I think we all fell asleep and were found hours later in the wee hours. Sheriff Jackson called Daddy to get me in the hospital as I was laying there recovering with one arm in handcuffs. When I was in that bed crying, I felt the lowest in my life. Just as the Sheriff, doctors and nurses left the room, Daddy took his huge thick belt out and whupped me for 2 hours. That man was sick of me as I was sick of him in my teens and twenties. When it was all over, Daddy made me live in the hangar for two years. During that time, I discovered that it was Sweet Baby Jesus that pulled me from that wreckage. It took me some time, but I pulled myself together. By the way, it was in that small Mississippi hospital where I met my future beautiful bride, Delores Johnson. At first she thought I was a vile piece of white trash (yep, literally with my last name and all). But as she gave me sponge baths, she saw that she could fix me. So, along with the fact that Jesus saved me, so was Delores Johnson. Very soon, I went to Aimco Technical Institute where I found out that I could become a dang good plumber and even got into writing letters. I thought reading was for feminine-looking men from New York City, but recently, I think that's OK with this Internets thing where anyone can read the truth about Secular Progressive, intellectuals and homosexuals. I'm still with my buddies Jebby and Chase who did OK themselves, but joke on me about how I'm on a crusade and into doing this blog thing. I can take it because it is in Hebrews 32:11 where it says, "He who stands up to mocking in His fight for family values, becomes a stronger man."
Stay here and keep reading. My story and crusade is far, far from over.