How do I remember?

Remembering memories can sometimes be as fun or maybe even more fun than the actual memory itself.

I know all the people that love the outdoors know what I mean.

            As with so many memories, with our outdoor adventures, whether sports or hunting or fishing we tend to sugar coat the memories into something grander than the actual event.

            I can remember many hunting trips that ended with a successful harvest of whatever animal we were going after but I rarely remember all the mosquito bites, hunger pains or shoes filled with swamp water. On the other hand, there are several trips that we were unsuccessful in the harvesting of any species of animal or fish where I can distinctly remember every life threatening aspect of the trip in a Hollywood movie type fashion.

            Many of you have been on such trips with me, unfortunately or fortunately, whichever case the memory supplies. Many of you are responsible or maybe I should say to be thanked for all the great opportunities for many of my memories.

            There are many coaches, land owners and generous friend that afforded me with many days of memories throughout my 18 years in Hardee County.

            Some of the memories I have are the Giant rope swing on the Peace River just north of the Riverview bridge. I remember being scared to death watching my friends jump off of the rope and into the Peace River. I also remember how fun it was. I vaguely recall the long walk and even less remember all the other injuries and pain that I’m sure we incurred from such an adventure.

            Another great memory is sitting on the bank of the Peace River fishing after school. I don’t really remember all the thorns, or bugs or even being hung up in trees or on the bottom of a log or a million other issues that I’m sure happened. I do remember one day my brother came home with our mutt that followed him everywhere. The dog, I will call it, since it had 12 names, no lie, had it’s mouth clamped down on my brother’s hand, and all involved where yelling or yelping. Fortunately for the dog, later known as, “fish hook”, and my brother our neighbor for part of our lives was Dr. Slade Haymans, local veterinarian.  You see “fish hook” had followed Daniel down to the river. Daniel was attempting to throw out a trot line one afternoon but when he got to the last few hooks he noticed the dog had eaten the bait and in so doing hooked itself through the tongue. So to keep the dog from swallowing more Daniel put his hand in “fish hook’s” mouth and walked back to the house from the river. Yeah he was a tough kid, that’s why he played linebacker in college. Anyway a few minutes with the vet and all were fine and the dog had name number twelve.

            I’m sure Daniel has a much more traumatic memory of that event but it was kind of fun remembering that for me. It must be the older brother in me.

            There are several boating stories that I will withhold for the sake of my friends and family that go, “Oh, not that story again!”

            As for sporting stories I’ll leave you with this one. My nickname in high school, you might say one of twelve was, Goober. Well, one night Hardee High School’s varsity basketball team was playing Santa Fe High School’s varsity basketball team in Lakeland. It must have been my Senior year because I was starting and playing in the game. Anyway the home crowd, because of my crazy style of play, was chanting Goober, Goober, Goober! They were trying to distract me or shame me, or make fun of me, or in a sense boo me. However, I thought, “Hey they are cheering for me!” (Not really, I just pretended they were.) I then proceeded to score 3 or 4 layups in a row, and ended with 14-18 points which for me was like winning the Gold medal in the Olympics.

            Anyway I’m sure I felt much more shame and embarrassment but I don’t remember that at all. It is a funny thing how we remember things, isn’t it?