On The Road With Denny D

In The Cards   I grew up surrounded by cards players. My dad played cards, my mom played cards, his mom played cards, her dad played cards. You get it.  The grown up's played euchre while us kids hearing the ruckus, decided on a more civil game. Enter the game known as, spoons. The object of the game, to be the first to get four of a kind and then grab a spoon. Usually played with four players and three spoons. This game is very fast paced, it is for this reason that the old folks never played. Cause of death, heart attack brought on by not cholesterol but a utensil. Playing spoons was like musical chairs but with cutlery. Only the music never stopped, it was replaced with a hand slapping table gouging flurry of activity. This trumped the noise heard from the other table. My mother didn't appreciate us scratching the table up. The adults could slam their fists down on it and yell trump. That was okay. We were banished to a folding card table aka eating area for kids,...

I remember watching the old man in the sea with my dad. The movie was about an old man and a big fish. The old man (played by Spencer Tracy) set out to prove to himself and to everyone else, that even though he was old, he wasn’t weak, he wasn’t washed up and he could still land the big one. All he needed was one day and this was that day.  Hook line and splinters How long the day and how long the fight would last, he had no idea.   The game was tug of war and war it was. The old man skillfully played the fish reeling in the slack but ready with the drag when he could feel the beast burst through the surface of sea.   His calloused hands now bloodied from hours of fighting, were wrapped with shreds of a discarded sweat-stained shirt, meant to be a bandage and did nothing to stop the pain, only to slow the bleeding. How many hours had gone by it didn’t matter.   Neither one surrendered, knowing well that weakness awakens the sharks.   The night came and the fight...

Paper planes I didn't know what origami was and the only paper folding skill I had acquired at my young grade school age was making paper airplanes. My father, however, could make a hat out of yesterday's news.  Flight path It was meant to be just a little note cleverly written within the paper wingspan. Just a few words "meet me after school" signed with my name. The destination was my childhood want to be sweethearts desk. It wasn't a long flight; she sat right infront of me. It would have been easier to tap her on the shoulder. But this was more romantic. Okay, bullshit. I was shy and scared to death. I wasn't expecting turbulence that day, oh but there was.  Stormy weather The plane vered off course and landed at the feet of my teacher. I looked out the window and hoped he wouldn't think it was me but the signed note was more than enough of a confession. I was busted, now the whole class knew I had the hots for a girl named Sue. The good thing is she ...

Setting the stage The spackled countertop made the gray and black sponge brick backsplash stand out. Well, not really. The attached island didn't help much either. But this area was just the ticket for my childhood bartender comedy routines. I had dual roles: the bartender and the drunk. Having seen one of my uncles in action, I improvised much to my niece’s enjoyment. I had his smoky throat Detroit dialect down pat.  Kill or be killed I would make her giggle so hard until my mother woke up. "You kids quiet down, down there" became just background noise in a crowded make-believe bar room. I killed and was almost killed because of it. I'd set up the bar with shot glasses and orange juice or Kool-Aid. My niece would pull up a stool and I'd lean over and say, "What'll you have" "A shot of Tang, no rocks, straight up" Let's just assumed she said that I can't remember everything. I was too young to know what a screwdriver was, but I ...

The summer of Sixty Eight Tiger stadium   There are only three occasions to wear a little league uniform: Parade Day, playing ball or sitting in the bleachers at Tiger stadium. Every year they had a little league team day. This day included kids from Canada too. My hometown was just across the border. Windsor Ontario. Windsor Ontario was once called Sandwich. Now Sandwich is a road running east and west along the river. Back in the day our city was divided by a few of these sandwiches. They were three sandwiches and no, hero was not one of them: East, west and south. We represented Sandwich East. I don't remember the bus ride over, but I do remember our seats. Our seats were in the nosebleed section of right field. My father and his brother were our chaperones watching over my brother and I.  Looking around the place was enormous. It was sunny day. The sounds of the vendors filled the air. "Get your red hots here" and "peanuts roasted peanuts" I remember pea...

Tennis Anyone When I first learned how to play tennis, I must admit I wasn't in love with it. Pun intended. I did love hanging out with my brother from another mother. My sister's husband and my doubles partner. After a few weeks of practice, I had acquired enough skill to hit a pretty good backhand and a decent forehand, but my serving technique wasn't so good.  I could get by, so we figured a challenge was in order. Our first two victims were two old dudes. We thought "surely we could take these guys" They were older and slower than us. My partner was decked out with sweatbands on each wrist and one around his forehead. That was just accessorizing. The ensemble was meant to compliment his tucked in tennis shirt and his knee-high white sports socks. His fashion sense alone should have scared the old guys. The old guys must have gone to the same sports store because they dressed in a similar fashion. I wasn't quite as sporting as the old guys. A black track ...

The Unstable Stable Hand   In nineteen eighty-nine I got married for the first time. My then wife had a dream. She wanted to buy dog kennel. She was a groomer, so this sounded like a good idea. I supported her like a good husband should. I had one role and one role only. Clean shit.    Doggy do do   My job at the kennel was cleaning dog shit. Every morning, I woke to shit. Dog shit and in-law shit. I was glad to have my part-time sales job. It got me out of shit. If only for a little while. They needed me to get a full-time job. So, I looked for a new job. I needed to get out of shit with mother mafia or at least not see her as much. What persuaded to work, or should I say, who persuaded me to work at a greenhouse/petting zoo? Yup, my ex-mother in-law.  Why I applied to be a farmhand, I will never know. Apparently, for the comedy of errors that would soon follow and this opportunity to now write about it.    Do this. Don't do that   The ...

This is short story about a father, a son and a moment in time. My father had harness horses and I was a farmhand by default. I learned at very young age that if I wanted to see my dad, I had to go with him to the barn. He worked at Fords; his real job. Horses for lack of a better word was his side hustle. It was his dream. After work he'd came home to have supper, load up truck with bunch of us kids, sometimes the neighbors kids too. The best part of hard work was seeing his horses race. I was always glad to a tag along. My favorite memories is hanging around the clubhouse and paddock with my dad. I enjoyed our many trips to Windsor, Dresden and even Leamington raceway. I think I enjoyed Leamington the most; they had the best French fries. It was fun to watch the horses round the track. Especially, if one of the horses was my dad's. I think I enjoyed watching my dad painstakingly scribble his selections on the race form, while I randomly pick the winning horse the most. It wa...

I got a chemistry set for Christmas one year. The best experiment I learned was making smelling salts. The victim; my brother. While he was asleep, I slithered by his bed, concoction in hand and waited for just the right moment to unleash the stink. I had to contain my laughter while I waved it under his nose. Luckily, he fell asleep just as fast as he woke up so I continued to torment him. It didn't take long until the chemistry set was spent of its supplies, so I searched for alternative prankster opportunities. Enter Cavalcade of Comedy.   It was called the Cavalcade of Comedy. The perfect place for a little prankster kid to find a little ploy toy or two. Walking in there was everything from clown noses, to magic, to plastic model car kits and my favorite, prank goodies.   My father was a great man. A hard-working man. But everyone does it. Sometimes it just happens. Air must go somewhere. My Dad always said as the air escaped his boxers "you have to get rid of ...

I will never forget the corner stores of my youth. Starlight, was my favorite. Honorable mentions would include: Bulat's, Fred's and Stop 'N' Shop. Every store had what I wanted. I wanted candy. Koho's, mojo's, sponge toffee, pixie sticks, licorice pipes, cigars, babies, jaw breakers, black balls and chocolate bars. There are too many to mention, so I'll shout out my fav's.  Chocolate bars. Sweet Marie was my favorite chocolate bar or candy bar, if you're American. I don't see her anymore. She must have divorced Oh Henry, took Baby Ruth and move to America. That marriage was off the shelf. Literally. Another chocolate bar I liked was EAT-MORE. My friends thought I was nuts.  But it was good. That mixture of nuts, chocolate and molasses was delightful. Okay, truth be told, I ate them for one reason; to fold up the wrapper, so it read "Eat Me" Kids will be kids. The color of candy. Back when I was kid the color of the candy never offende...

Murder-ball was a game we played in the alley between Buckingham Dr and Westminster Blvd. The object of game was obvious. Don't get murdered. Escaping death under a pile of kids with the ball cuddled in your arms, was the only way to win. We used whatever ball we could find, usually a football. We'd hurled the ball up in the air and as it came down, like jump ball in basketball, we would leap to retrieve it but instead of batting it away to a teammate, we caught it. Our reward for catching the ball; premeditated murder. Someone was going to die, we planned it and we were all in.  It was a silly game and upon refection, one question comes to mind. Why? Maybe our roughhousing was just a well needed muddy group hug. I have to admit that I was okay to participate in the pile on but to catch the ball and be at the bottom of the mud bath, no thanks. I wouldn't try to catch the ball. Are you kidding me, they'd have send out a search party to find me in the mud. I jumped on top...

In the early seventies McDonald's came to town. Burgers were twenty five cents and cheese burgers were thirty five cents. Mom would pick up a bag every once in a while for us kids and of course for our elastic band grandma. Meme' loved those burgers. That tangy zip of mustard, ketchup and pickles was just the ticket and so tasty. There was only one place better.  We lived four houses down from the best greasy spoon in Windsor. The Hi Ho restaurant had it all. French fries, burgers, foot long hot dogs, curb service, hot babes, hot rods and strange little men disguised as short order cooks. It was our neighborhood hangout.  It was the place where if you were grumpy, you'd get a burger named after you but you had to eat it while six other hungry dwarfs stared at you. Sneezy, didn't have anything named after him for obvious reasons.  Our favorite Hi Ho food was their famous foot long hotdog. A toasted ten inch long flat sided bun opened wide enough to slather on must...