My Continuing Education

Some recent events that have come to pass have reminded me of a valuable lesson I learned years ago, when I was an adolescent, and -- had I been asked -- had no need for new knowledge. The older I get, the more I realize I need to learn. I would really like to be able to pass a portion of this important information on to my progeny, but some of this stuff simply must come from painful experience.

The lesson to which I refer above had to do with two young women. The first was a girl named Brenda Combs, who originated out of North Carolina and resided for a time with her aunt and uncle -- in Athens, Tennessee -- the names of whom have escaped me over the years. I never got the details of why she was living with her aunt and uncle, but my assumption was some complication in her home life. Who knows, really?

Brenda was a short, plush and pretty girl who came and went with the metaphoric speed of an ultrasonic F-15 Tomcat in my youth. She tired of my indecipherable BS after only a few months and broke my heart before moving back to North Carolina and disappearing into the ether for all eternity. Most likely, she has no recollection of me, and -- if quizzed -- would reply, "Who?"

The second young woman was a girl named Shelia Mull (yes, I spelt it correctly -- her first name really is constructed S-H-E-L-I-A). We dated for a respectable time before becoming engaged just after high school graduation. She was, for the most part, sensible. She also was pretty, well put together, and had a resonant alto voice which she put to use in a gospel quartet, driven all over East Tennessee and other regions by her Dad, Kenneth Mull, a rail company employee. All of the quartet and musicians were members of East View Baptist Church in Etowah, Tennessee.

In my teen years, as a passenger in the King's Children van, I saw some of the smallest, backwaterest, most welcoming congregations in the history of organized religion. I met good, bad and interesting people, and learned a great deal about the human condition without even realizing that I was being educated. Then, one night at the Mull hacienda, I received the all-important lesson of which I was recently reminded.

To give you some historical data, the Jergens company used to manufacture a hair care product called, for real, Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific; and they were correct. Further, Brenda Combs -- the plush heart-breaker -- utilized said product on her long, luxurious brunette locks. Any time I was confronted with the aroma thereafter, it was a sharp reminder of the pain of this lost relationship. Mind you, I didn't dwell on it; but I didn't forget either.

A couple of years after said loss, I was at the Mull home one evening, and we were having a buffet-style meal wherein everyone served themselves, found a place to perch, and gnoshed on good, southern food (I'm fairly certain that fried chicken and mashed potatoes were involved). I was -- I can see it in my mind, and I still can't stop myself -- standing in the kitchen, plate in hand, trying to figure the best place to break line, when one of the other members of the quartet -- at about 5' 2" -- walked directly under my nose. The following came rolling out of my stupid yap, unabated by any sense of imminent danger:

"You smell like Brenda," said I, the requisite wonder and awe covered not in the least.

To the best of my recollection, I never stopped paying for that particular transgression until the inevitable -- and yes, even more painful -- break-up. Truth be known, I deserved everything I got for it. It was a stupid and hurtful thing to do, and was an important lesson in simple diplomacy.

Absolute honesty has its place on planet earth, as does thoughtful duplicity. They are the yin and yang of communication which must be applied carefully, with a good deal of forethought and compassion.

But gee, her hair really smelled terrific.

Dealing With Traffic III

Having worked in Knoxville, off and on, for the last year +, I have learned more about getting around the Big City than I ever cared to know. Getting to work is normally easy, as traffic is fairly light before 7:00 AM on I-40/I-75. However, getting home -- especially on Friday evenings -- has become and adventure in discovery.

My employment is centered just off Exit 1 from I-640, so I'm near Papermill Drive. This inspired me to try going down Northshore, which begins at Papermill and ends near Cedar Hills Golf & Country Club just north of Lenoir City. This was interesting, because last year we discovered that the KnoxPatch-Powers-That-Be had installed a roundabout at the intersection of Concord and Northshore. A roundabout; I'm dead serious. That brought about a monstrous disappointment when I first came to the intersection recently, and discovered that a traffic light had been installed. They put in the traffic signal that should have been there to begin with, but they left the roundabout. So now, one must stop at the light when it is red, then curve to the right, then back left if one is to continue in what used to be a straight line. The island in the center is intact, as if a homeless person may come along one day an pitch a tent.

The route is fine for Fridays, and though it is more mileage, I feel that it takes less time due to the lack of parking facilities such as the ones on I-40 near Papermill and Pellissippi Parkway from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM. However, I began to investigate the possibility of another alternate route one day, and found that Middlebrook Pike runs straight into Hardin Valley Road, which ends close-by to the Watt Road I-40 entrance. I know that I really don't want to hit the interstate there, but I found that Campbell Station Road also ends at Hardin Valley, and it would give me the chance to completely bypass the major Friday evening traffic tie-ups which lie in a southwesterly direction.

So, one evening, I headed down Middlebrook Pike. The first thing I learned is that one doesn't want to explore unknown country, going at a rate of 50 miles per hour or so, with the setting sun directly in one's face. It's hard to see traffic lights change, and impossible to read street signs. But, as I was headed that way, I was determined to forge on. I passed Cedar Bluff Road (which I only knew by recognition of the area), then several other streets and neighborhoods of which I have no knowledge, whatsoever. The next landmark I recognized was Pellissippi Parkway, an overpass at Hardin Valley. I knew, then, that I was at least close to Campbell Station, my ultimate goal.

I passed the fairly new Hardin Valley school complex (Home of the Hawks), then I went by a Food City -- good information to have for a person with a Food City value card, and a potential need for gasoline. I then came to the end of Hardin Valley Road, which meant that I had completely missed North Campbell Station, damn the Scots, anyway.

But, in exploration mode, I went ahead onto East Gallaher Ferry Road, which became Williams Road, then Williams Ferry Road, which brought me to Melton Hill Park, of which I had never known; and that's where my road ended. By this time, I knew that I had lost the chance at a short way home, due to the fact that I would have to turn around and retrace my tire marks.

This I did, and I tried Hickory creek road, which goes in the same general direction as the location of the interstate, but I got buffaloed there, also, and wound up retracing back to -- Hardin Valley Road. I headed back east, toward Knoxville, and -- remember that Food City I discovered? North Campbell Station Road is right in front of the Gas 'N' Go located there. With the setting sun in my hindquarters, I could see the street sign.

So, I finally found I-40, and arrived home with new information for how to get from work to here during heavy traffic. Melton Hill Park? I'll save that for some spring day when I need to get outdoors without doing any real work. There has to be something worthwhile there, other than people who have gotten completely turned around, I mean.