Pee Bee

The highway leading to the graveside service shut down to allow the bikes and cars in without interruption. Tegan, Mom, and I rode in the Limo. I invited Marcus to ride, but he insisted that the Limo be limited to family.

I gazed out along the grass laden hills. Bikes lined the access road for as far as the eye could see. No less than six MC’s had members in attendance. My guess was there were 400 MC Brothers, and 300 friends and relatives paying tribute to my father’s life.

As brash as my father was, before me stood proof of the men and women he touched in living his life.

I could only hope that in living mine I could influence half as many people.

After the pastor finished speaking, he stepped aside and patted me on the shoulder. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. After clearing my throat, I read the hand-written story.

I was roughly seven years old. Maybe eight. While my father was at work, and my mother was probably cooking brownies, I snuck around the edge of the house.

With my Red Ryder BB gun at my side, I positioned myself in the alley. The garage window was my intended target, and after taking aim, I fired one shot at the pane of glass.

The impact of the BB broke the fragile glass, but it didn’t shatter it. It left a small hole, and a ‘spider web’ of misplaced glass surrounding it. After close inspection of the damage, I went on to hunt anything that was brave enough to expose itself to me.

It wasn’t that night, or even the night that followed when my father approached me. It was maybe a week or so later. He knew my friends didn’t do it, because at that time, none of them had a BB gun.

I was the only one who was ‘responsible’ enough.

He towered over me with his hands on his hips and his eyes locked on mine.

Looking down wasn’t allowed, and looking away wasn’t an option, either. Reluctantly, I met his stare.

The tone of his voice was such that there was no mistaking his disappointment in me. “Brad, did you shoot the garage window with your BB gun?”

I knew he would probably kill me, or at least ship me away to a camp somewhere for what I had done, but no punishment would be as bad as the punishment I’d receive for lying. Honesty was a part of having integrity, and as my father’s son, I was expected to be honorable over and above all things.

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

He shook his head. “I work hard to pay for this house. Why would you do such a thing?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

I’d no more than responded, and I knew it wasn’t going to be sufficient. Not with my father, anyway.

“That’s not an answer. I’ll ask you one more time. Why did you do it?”

I looked at the hole. After a quick study, I told the truth. “I wanted to see what it would do. The BB gun. See how much power it had.”

He nodded. “What did you think it would do?”

“Break it…”

He scowled. “But you just had to know, didn’t you?”

I nodded again. “Yes, Sir.”

“You damned sure didn’t exercise any common sense. It’s going to cost $20 to fix that window. Do you have $20?”

I had about $2.00, if I collected all the change from my piggy bank. I was saving for a mini-bike at the time. I fought against the lump in my throat. “No, Sir.”

“Start saving.” He said. “You’re going to pay for it. You understand why, don’t you?”

“Because I broke it?”

“That’s right.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “And now, you’re going to pay for fixing it. The decisions you make in life will have a financial effect on you. Some will be bad, and some will be good. This was a piss poor decision on your part.”

I suspected taking my BB gun was next, and I was right. He told me he’d return it when he could trust me, and to this day, I’m still waiting on it.

I chuckled a laugh, paused, and looked out over the crowd.

Most people were wiping their eyes. I realized not all of them were reacting to what I was saying, but some of them certainly were. The rest, by my best guess, were recalling stories of their own.

I dropped my gaze to the sheet of paper and continued.

A month or so later, he and I changed the broken piece of glass together. He showed me how to scrape away the caulking, pull the retaining clips, and replace the glass.

To this day, I still know how to replace a pane in an old double hung window.

I also know the value of money.

The lessons my father taught me didn’t stop there. They continued for years, many long after I was an adult.

“Be honest.”

“All we have is our word. Be a man of your word. Always.”

“If you can’t pay for it, you probably don’t need it.”

“Work hard every day, or your boss will find someone else who will.”

“Never raise your hand to a woman. If someone else does in your presence, raise your hand to him.”

“At any cost, stand up for what you believe in. If there’s opposition, stand taller.”

“No man on this earth is born better than you, or worse. Don’t judge. Ever. A man’s worth will be shown in his actions, but never by his skin color, religion, or lack of religion.”

In my parent’s home, using derogatory words to describe a race or religion didn’t happen.

Ever.

I am the man I am today because of my father.

He died in his sleep while Tegan and I were laying side-by-side in bed on the night of his 50th wedding anniversary.

I’m going to miss him dearly.

But today, I stand tall, I stand proud, and I stand firm in my convictions.

Because I am Bradley Carson’s son.

Pop, I’ll try to never disappoint you.

Proudly, Your son, Bradley Carson II.

I folded the paper and tossed it on top of the casket.

And, I wept one last time as they lowered him into the ground.