Head Examined June 22, 2025

 “I’m Finally Getting My Head Examined” 

Kay refused to take a picture of my wired skull. Who could blame her? 

There comes a time in everyone’s life when you find yourself getting dumber. You may not notice it until you find your lost wallet in the bathroom sink. That hasn’t happened yet, but I will remember to check in the bathroom the next time some object hides from me. 

I started having a few forgetful spells about five years ago during the COVID outbreak. I believe I’ve previously mentioned that I got COVID three different times. After I recovered from my third case, I had to relearn how to use my TV remote. I caught on in a matter of days. The biggest thing I learned during my sickness was that wearing a medical mask didn’t work for me, nor did it for Kay. She had COVID twice. In fact, she’s the one responsible for my third case of the disease.

Fortunately, my brain is better than it was immediately after the COVID-19 outbreak. However, I forgot the names of actors, movies, and people at church. Kay recently hauled my buns to a neurologist who drained me of four vials of blood. She also insisted that I have a couple of brain tests. 

At the moment, I’m waiting for the results of my MRI. – If I may insult your intelligence, an MRI involves being fed into a narrow tunnel for the purpose of some imaging. While half of my body was inside the tube, only my head was being imaged. The noise level was set to penetrate my left eardrum—loud beeps, whistles, and the sound of metal striking concrete. As soon as I was dragged out of the contraption, I began to repeatedly sing one word of the Hallelujah Chorus.

            The day after, I was introduced to a process known as an EEG. Before entering the facility one of the nurses asked if it was okay for a couple of college students to watch the procedure. After assuring me that my clothing would not be removed, I told her that the gentleman and young lady would be welcome. 

The procedure itself was used to pick up anything odd in my brain waves. The procedure called for the gluing of a few dozen diodes atop my head. It took two imaging specialists, both young ladies, to put several dozen globs of glue atop my skull. While it was meant for my skull, much of it ended up in my hair.

With glue positioned along the lines that were drawn all over my head, the billion or so diodes were set in the glue. After a wire was connected to each diode, each one was joined to a device that I never got to see. Fortunately, there was no mirror in the room, or I might’ve had the two college kids leave. My job was to remain perfectly still and register a look of calmness on my face. No telling how many times I had to be reminded of that. 

After propping my head onto a solid object, with the consistency of an enlarged coconut, a switch was flipped. While perfectly still, I had to answer a plethora of questions. I missed the first one. “What’s the name of this hospital?” I said, “Herman Methodist.” Several minutes later, she asked me again. This time I said Memorial Herman, which I thought was what I said the first time. That can’t be a good sign.

I was good with math questions. The first one was “What is five plus four minus three?” I immediately said, “Six.” I can add and subtract well, and I’m good with dividing and multiplying. However, in high school Geometry and Trigonometry ate my lunch. You may remember me telling you about getting an “A” in college Trig. It’s all about the teacher. 

After the questions ended, the diodes and glue were quickly removed. I have no idea how they were able to get my hair unglued. The results will be sent online probably tomorrow. I would probably get them before my next visit with the neurologist. Incidentally, she also has a great sense of humor. I have been so blessed with great doctors, nurses, and staff. I never caught on to the titles of the staff. That’s likely due to my brain issue. Speaking of which, excuse me. --  I’ll be back in a bit.

            You’re not going to believe this, nor likely care, but my test results came in while I was writing this thing. I kid you not. – So, I shall now reveal the results of both tests, as explained by Kay: The only brain issue that was recognized came from the MRI. It mentioned a few small blood vessels in my brain that are not getting enough oxygen. There were no issues with the EEG results. Except for the blood vessels found by the MRI, everything else was normal for a young man my age. More accurately, for a 75-year-old guy.

            My neurologist will go all over this with me during my soon-to-be appointment. Who knows, perhaps I’ll get a diet that will increase the blood flow in my brain. In time, I may remember some forgotten names of people. And who knows, perhaps each time I find myself standing in the middle of a room, I’ll be able to recall why I’m there. – Small steps. 

End

hayter.mark@gmail.com                                                        

Long Road June 15

 Hayter for June 15, 2025

“The Long Road” 

            Do you think much about the time you spent with past friends? I see in movies and read in books stories of that nature. From what I’ve learned, our old stories will be the only ones we’ll remember.  Of course, your brain may not do that on its own. The One who was with you the whole time may help out.

            Kay and I spend less time with our friends, Virginia and Freeman. We met them in 1972 and traveled on short vacations many times and went to the same church for decades.  I’ve got the articles to prove it. Digging up the stories would be a struggle.

It’s so much easier for me to remember Virginia and Freeman, but pain to recall the names of most of my school friends. I remember certain events, but not so much about the names of those with me at the time.  

            I do remember the night of my high school graduation. It took place at the Pasadena High School football stadium. When the final prayer or speech was over, everyone cheered. Of course, not that many of us tossed our square hats in the air. Everything we wore, other than our shoes, slacks, and skivvies, were rented. Our school colors were green and white, and our robes were gray. I imagine the rental place chose the same color for each school.

What I remember most about the night was what happened while I walked back to the family car. One of the girls I knew walked up to me, bawling. She hugged me and said, “Mark, it’s over! None of us will ever see each other again!”

            Ginger about broke my heart. I tried to reassure her of our better times ahead, but I did a lousy job because I didn’t even believe it myself. I have long since remembered Ginger crying. It was the only time I ever hugged her. And the last time I ever saw her.

That week, I managed to get a job at a company that made pipe insulation and coatings. It was a horrible summer job. I worked there for four summers. Today, I occasionally get a visit from my best friend, Johnny Sutton. He worked at the same factory for only one summer, the lucky duck.

Johnny and I were friends in high school and college. In our senior year at Stephen F. Austin College, we rented an old yellow house, so we wouldn’t have to stay in the dorm or apartment. The rent was $60 a month. I don’t know why that stuck in my head. Johnny visits us from Livingston on occasion. Kay gets to listen again to our old stories.

            I don’t enjoy referring to my current age, which is 75, for fear of losing both of my younger readers. Of course, most of you are younger than I am, but I’m talking about college and middle-aged readers. I remember writing about the time on “Career Day” when columnist Leon Hale came to McCullough High School, and I was assigned to be his host.

            On Career Day, dozens of speakers were chosen to talk to the different groups. After introducing him, Leon had little to say other than answering questions. Hale was a writer but not much of a public speaker. I was proud that he agreed to show up, though. I think he started out writing for the “Houston Post” and ended up with the “Chronicle.”

            Most of the students had never heard of him. The list of speakers included both the name and profession of each of our guests, so I suppose several students were interested in working with a newspaper or being a writer. I must wrong. Since there were few questions asked, I had to come up with my own. That went on with four different classes.

I’m a different writer from Leon Hale, and not nearly as good. I was a better speaker … as are you.  However, I’ve always been proud that I met the Chronicle’s greatest columnist. I also enjoyed Lyn Ashby; he supposedly went to a different school on “Career Day” because I can’t remember seeing him in the flesh.

            I don’t remember Pasadena High having a Career Day. Nor do I recognize, by sight, the names of the many friends I had in High School. I’ve got a photo of the class of ’67 rolled up in my closet, but rarely do I take time to look at it. I do recall a lot of the faces, but most names are hidden too deeply in the gray matter hidden above my neck. 

            I told the story once about my plan when I retired to drive my old pickup down I-45, past the turnoff to Oak Ridge High, and continuing on to the Galveston Seawall. I dreamed of that a lot while I was teaching. (Again, I loved the students, but the preparation was a bear.)

            I waited until October of 2004 to make the drive. I went at the same time in the morning as that I always did when I was teaching.  The weird thing is that the drive didn’t make me feel all that accomplished. I sat on the seawall for about 30 minutes. I had breakfast before driving home. The result of my idea turned out to be a depressing event.

In fact, the only pleasing moment of what I just wrote was the time Ginger walked up to me after high school Graduation. It just broke my heart to see her so sad. I had been looking forward to graduation since my Sophomore year. And finding a job in a factory that made pipe insulation and coatings so I could go to college.

End

hayter.mark@gmail.com                                                        

Topic Research

 Hayter for June 8, 2025

“Someone has a hand in my mouth!” 

            I don’t care to share this with just anyone, but I’ve got good-looking teeth. Dr. English, my dentist, tells me that after each of my teeth cleaning visits. He doesn’t include the word “looking” after “good”, and I always forget to remind him of that.

            The normal-toothed person would be fine with having good teeth. As long as it doesn’t hurt when you chew, you’re good. It doesn’t matter how badly positioned they may be in your mouth, they still work. You just need to keep your mouth shut.  

The issue with me is that my teeth don’t show unless I part my lips. Part them a lot. That would make people think I was doing my Clown Class exercises. I’m toothless in all of my photos. No wonder I never got roles in a major movie. -- “Hayter, anybody can act, but if the audience can’t see your teeth they’re left to imagine.” 

I would need to have my lips trimmed to solve that problem. In which case, the director would say, “Cut! That was a good take, but next time, Hayter, try to close your lips!”  

            Beg your pardon? -- Oh, I went to the dentist at eight this morning. It’s the earliest I’ve ever let anyone mess with my teeth. I made the appointment early because today is the day I have to turn in my article, the problem being that I still don’t have a topic. I’ve got a list of topics somewhere, but I’m tired of going through them. You might enjoy one or two, but I’m not in the mood for any of them. 

Do you have any ideas? Kay, bless her heart, sometimes does, but her topics always involve a boatload of research. Did you notice how I threw in “bless her heart” in the comment? During my appointment with the dentist, I kept trying to come up with ideas. I was going to ask Janet, the dental assistant, but she had my mouth wedged open most of the time. I may not be the sharpest Q-Tip in the cabinet but I know better than to try to talk when a pointed metal spear is chipping away at my teeth.

            During a quick tool swap, I told Janet that I was hoping to live long enough for someone to invent a rubber-tipped toothscrapper. We were both of the opinion that A.I. could come up with anything. Artificial Intelligence would be handling all dental visits, writers would be unnecessary, as would real-life actors and reporters, and grocery baggers. The only people with jobs would live in India.

            As soon as my teeth were spotless, Dr. English came in to look things over, and eventually told me that my teeth looked “good”. If only he knew the trouble I go through to keep my ivories looking good… I mean good-looking. Hey, besides brushing every night, I floss my teeth on occasion. I don’t enjoy making a job harder than it needs to be.

            I can’t remember all of what Dr. English has done to my teeth. I can only imagine how many mouths that man has worked on. One thing I do know is that each time he sees me, he asks what I’ve been doing. I never have much to say, so I immediately ask him if he’s made any trips lately. He and his wife take a lot of trips. This time he told me that they were in Branson four weeks ago. That blew me away. Kay and I were in Branson at that time. I don’t know how we never ran into one another. – By the way, each day, there are thousands of people wandering around Branson. I’ve seen them! Some of them are still there. Everyone went unrecognized by me.  

Before I left his office, Janet recommended I get a fluoride treatment. I never had one nor cared for one, but I got it this time. Before brushing the stuff on my teeth, she told me that I couldn’t drink anything hot for six hours. I already felt committed, so I passed up my morning coffee for the treatment. Right now, my teeth feel great, but I’ve still got a couple of hours before I can have my coffee. 

            When I was in the front office with my credit card, I had time to talk to Stacey and Linda, the ladies in charge of all the office work. I was impressed that they took a few moments to chat.   I’ve known Stacey for decades. One or both of her kids were in my class or she worked at school with me.  I’m embarrassed that I don’t remember for sure.

 I got around to mentioning that I have trouble with my brain. They were both too kind in that they tried to make me think that they were better at forgetting than me… or I.. -- Let’s see: “Than me am a forgetter.” vs “Than I am a forgetter.” – I’m going with “I”  See? I’ve still got some of it.

            Anyway, I’m still trying to come up with an article topic. I’ve got over an hour left before I’m supposed to drink some hot coffee. I can drink cold coffee in the late evening, but not morning. That being said, I’m going to break Stacey’s advice and drink coffee after four and a half hours. I’ll be back as soon as my Keurig has done its job

If I don’t make it back in time to write an article, I apologize and I’ll do better next week.  So til’ then… 

End

hayter.mark@gmail.com                                                       

 

  

Hayter for June 1, 2025

“Garbage by any other name is still trash.”

 

            I thought today would be a good time to talk about the history of garbage. The topic came to me the moment Kay entered my study and killed my game of solitaire. I use the game merely to help me think. -- Well, that’s a lie.

During her short visit, Kay asked, “Darling, have you got a topic yet?” From out of the blue came the word, “Garbage.” She understandably had no comeback. I thought she would at least say, “Garbage?”  She merely left the room, leaving me to write an article on trash. 

            I’m ready when you are. Okay, I’ll start with: When I was a kid, we didn’t have that much garbage. Mother considered it a lot, but I currently collect more garbage than our family of nine did back in the ‘60s. Most of the throwaways were cardboard, wood, cans, and Vienna sausages that had gone bad.

Cardboard and wood were not yet considered environmental hazards because they could be turned into smoke and ashes. And to make another point, I don’t think the word “environmental” had been coined yet.

Back then, our neighborhood didn’t smell much trash, because the smell of industrial pollutants pretty much covered it up. We seldom made a big deal about the smell until late spring, when one of us would say, “That’s odd. I don’t smell anything.” The breeze had shifted from north to south, and it would be that way for the next few months. 

As God would have it, with winter approaching, the wind came from the north. The southern refineries were further from our town, so the smoke didn’t bother us that much. But when the wind changed, we were now receiving the pollutants from the refineries at the Ship Channel.

           It was the season for the walls in our bedrooms to turn green from the pollutants. The industries didn’t release their most deadly smoke until nighttime, so the discoloration of the smoke would be less noticeable. Many a morning we woke up to find green walls. I don’t know if Mom cleaned the walls while we were at school, or if the greenness of the walls just faded into the sheetrock.

The pollution was terrible, but the nearby towns needed the refineries to survive. The vast majority of those with jobs worked in the refineries. The Texas Legislature thought it best to quell the State’s few environmentalists.

          Right now, let’s get past air pollution and visit the horror of plastic garbage. The first example of plastic was in the early 1900s. Each decade after that, corporations learned to improve the methods of manufacturing plastics. The word “plastics” is plural because plastic is now made of different chemicals and such. At the moment, the disappearance of plastic in the world would be a major dilemma due to the many purposes for which plastic is used.

But worry not. The manufacture of plastics will outlive us all. When a process to refine plastic was experimented with, it was learned that plastic can only be refined once. That being said, I have no idea what will happen to us if we drink out of a twice-refined plastic bottle. I imagine it will leak, collapse, or meld with our skin. I made up that last one.

The good news is we don’t have to worry about that happening. From what little I know, plastic has been either buried or dumped in the oceans for years. And it will stay in the ground and oceans as long as there is dirt to hide it and ocean waves don’t send it back home. I imagine you’ve seen news stories about plastic bottles, storage containers, and other products covering the beaches. Much of the stuff refuses to sink. 

The U.S. has yet to find an economically feasible way to fly plastic into space. Lately, we’ve been selling it to some Third World nations for them to dispose of. Once again, there are two methods to do that: Put it in the ground or the ocean. The poorer countries have thought of another solution. They keep it above ground. The important thing to note is that it’s not our fault.  It’s theirs now. And third-world leaders are getting rich on us paying them to handle the situation. So many problems, and no feasible solutions. By “feasible,” I mean cheap.

Forgetting all of that, I would now like to bring garbage closer to home by first thanking my garbage collectors. They’re relatively punctual and are so much more professional than the garbage men of my day. Where we now live, a truck with a big garbage can lifter attached grabs hold of my plastic trash drum, pulls it up, and empties it into the bowels of the garbage bin.

Two trucks visit our house every Wednesday. The early one grabs what are known as recyclables, which involve something made of metal, wood, glass, plastic… pretty much any non-food stuff. The question is, can the city actually recycle recyclables? A small percentage?

The vast majority gets taken care of through some of the processes mentioned at the beginning of this garbage lesson. The problem might be that mankind got too good at manufacturing items that make life easier. If only we had developed an interest concerning what to do with plastic items once they’re no longer usable. At least we took care of the auto exhaust issue. – Well, we’re still working on that one… along with several more. 

That’s it! I choose to end now because, like you, I’ve had enough garbage to last me a while. – Right now I have to come up with something a little more pleasant for next week. You think?   

End

hayter.mark@gmail.com                                                        

Then and Now

 Hayter for May 25, 2025

“Remembering Then and Now”

Mark in 1st Grade

Until I reached the age of six, my memory wasn’t all that acute. You may remember how, on my first day of school, I didn’t remember where my class was. Sad with a happy ending.

Mom walked me to school the day before, to show me my teacher and classroom. My teacher showed me where my class was. The lady’s name was Mrs. Smith. I likely wouldn’t have remembered that, had the following not happened. You see, after Mom walked me home, I figured that was the end of school for me. – You may wish to reread the first sentence of this thing..

 The next day was the real school day. Dennis, my brother, was a third grader and had to walk me to school. Even I felt sorry for him. Dennis didn’t know where his room was, but third graders didn’t have to know, because they could read big-lettered stuff on the wall. As soon as the bell rang and doors opened, Dennis said, “Your room is probably two hallways over. Mother showed you yesterday.”

You remember the rest of the story, how I entered the wrong room and wasn’t found out until 30 minutes or so into the class. I was taken to the front office, where I waited for the principal. I knew that right off, because the mean lady sat me down and told me to wait for Mr. Somebody, who was going to take care of me. That didn’t sound good. 

You’ll recall that the principal turned out to be the nicest man I had ever met in my life, from then to now. That’s why I remembered his name -- Mr. Bozart. He gave me a tour of the building, just like I was the mayor. I like the cafeteria with the characters painted on the wall.  He took me to the cafeteria and bought us both a lemonade.   

After I finished my drink, he took me to the playground and showed me the swings, monkey bars, and the kickball field. After that, he took me to my class and introduced me to Mrs. Smith, a rather serious-looking lady. That was the moment school started for me.  – By the way, those who remember Mr. Bozart are his family, close friends, and Mark Hayter. The man was my Hero.

            The last time I saw him was when I was playing football at Pasadena High. I was a tenth-grade defensive safety, waiting for Smiley High’s 10^th graders to call a play. A few seconds before a particular play started, one of the referees walked over and whispered, “Hayter, look out for their wide receiver, number 87.” I looked at the ref immediately and recognized that he was Mr. Bozart, the school principal, who was earning money in his spare time by being a football referee. However, knowing that man, he was likely there just for the fun of it. And he remembered my name!

That man made a nobody feel so proud. – Oh, and number 87 was tall and fast, and he was never thrown a ball while in my vicinity. 

Fortunately, that experience helped me to be on the lookout for people walking toward me. When I was at Branson, it was usually just little kids. I could’ve tackled every one of them. They each looked so happy. Speaking of Branson, on our trip home last week, I studied the countryside from Southern Missouri through Central and Western Arkansas.

It is miraculous, the number of homes that are located just a few yards off the highway. At the time the homes were built, there was no major highway. Just a two-lane dirt, shell, or cracked asphalt road. That left plenty of room for the front yards. They looked a lot like the ones I saw on our family trips through Oklahoma 

As the population in the area of Arkansas increased, the roads were widened, and some lanes were added. This took up a considerable portion of the front yards of many of those older homes built near the road. Now there’s not enough room to pitch a baseball in the front yards of some houses. Heaven help any kids who decide to play Freeze Tag in the yard. I can only hope that most of the homes belong to the elderly who likely sit on the porch.

Of course, there are plenty of homes with long winding driveways lining the hills. In the late evening of our drive, I wondered about the different jobs the residents might have had. When I was young, Daddy always drove us to Oklahoma, starting in the late evening when it was cooler. We’d arrive in the early morning. Two of the older kids in the backseat were in a constant battle to keep the two little squirts from touching them. 

As for the four Branson travelers, we left Branson at 9:00 a.m. and made it home at 9:00 p.m. We didn’t have a single fight. We did have to stop at Walmart a couple of times or a dozen times for restroom breaks. At times, we stopped at cafes to chow down or just eat ice cream. Our trip home was uneventful 

In 1967, the Hayter family piled into two cars to make it in time for a funeral in Oklahoma. It was the same night that the first of two episodes was to air, showing Richard Kimble finding the one-armed man. It was 8:45 p.m. and Larry was hauling us down a dark, dusty highway. Unless something big happened, we were not going to see Episode One. Life, as we knew it, stunk on ice. 

Oh well, that’s all I’ve got time for. Now you know how I felt on the trip to Bristow back on August 22, 1967. It was a tough time. Kind of like right now. -- My time is up.

End

hayter.mark@gmail.com                                                       

 

Branson Trip

 Hayter for May 18, 2025

“Having a Blast in Branson"

            Kay and I are bound to be home by now. We couldn’t afford to stay here a single day more than we planned. Don’t get me wrong, we’re having a blast, but a blast in Branson, Missouri, has more things to see and do than anywhere I’ve ever been.

           This trip was made possible by our friends Beverly and Ramon Bollinger, who kindly allowed Lanny and Carol Dressen, and Kay and me to use their timeshare to Branson. That was one great gift! Lanny drove the four of us in his extended-cab Ford pickup. We reached Little Rock, Arkansas, with five more hours of driving up, down, and around a bunch of hills that led to Branson. After a unanimous vote, we decided to get a couple of rooms at a hotel on the outskirts of Little Rock. We’re at an age where a 10-hour drive is more pain than gain. We reached Branson the following day.

By the way, Lanny’s pickup was quite comfortable. I was so pleased that he did not ask me to drive.  For most of the trip, I sat up front with Lanny, and the ladies sat in the back. At times, the route was complicated. Paper maps are so difficult to find nowadays, so Lanny had to occasionally pull over so he could use a map from his cell phone. Eventually, Kay replaced me in the front seat so she could use her phone to find directions. I could’ve used mine, but didn’t want to risk us ending up in the panhandle of Oklahoma.    

            As it turned out, we arrived in Branson in the afternoon. Being a great planner, Lanny had purchased tickets online for our first two shows. The ones he selected were two of the greatest performances in the history of Markdom.

The first performance was called “David.” It wasn’t about the Copperfield kid. It was the story of David, the King. The stage performance included at least 100 performers, roaming around three stages, each with its own set, and all three connected in a semicircle. The props created for each set were magnificently designed. And the actions during the play included dancing, music, singing, battles, and giants.

 And let me tell you--Goliath was big. And at least 25 feet tall. When that giant got hit in the forehead with a stone, he fell to his knees, stayed there for a few seconds, and then plunged to the ground. Which was good, because it allowed David to decapitate him. And, I’ve gotta say, Goliath had a massive head that sat atop a really thick neck!

            By the way, the guy playing David had a beautiful voice. And David’s mother also sang beautifully. The actor playing Saul? He was an okay singer, but I just couldn’t get past how mean he was. Oh, my word. I forgot to tell you about the sheep, horses, and pigeons. I’m telling you they had about 15 sheep scurry on stage from a door at the entrance of the theater to the stage. Then they ran off stage. They did that three or four times.

            And men riding real horses came from the area of the lobby, down the aisle, and then climbed up a ramp onto the stage. And pigeons flew from the stage across the auditorium, into a small opening at the back. And none of those animals relieved themselves during their time on stage. And they weren’t wearing diapers! It was a miracle.

            I cannot describe all of the wonderment that took place on the stage of “David.” But I certainly recommend you see the play.  The Insight Theatre has held several plays featuring Biblical characters. Even Jonah and Queen Esther!

            After leaving the set of “David”, we hurried over to another performance from a group called “The Haygoods”. It’s a group of six family members—five brothers and one sister—who sing, dance, joke around, and play more instruments than is possible for six performers to have mastered, but they did. 

            The Haygoods performed some spectacular numbers. The show was a blast! And the siblings seemed to get along fabulously! Not like the Everly Brothers. I really enjoyed listening to those two. Fortunately, I didn’t hear about their disdain for one another until they quit singing. 

            The Haygoods had a big array of different outfits, and their stage had so many different colored lights as well as shooting rays of different colors. By the way, at 8:30 p.m., on December 31, the Haygoods will put on a performance in Branson for New Year's Eve. It might be a nice getaway for you and your significant other. Of course, you should’ve started saving in February.

            Before returning home, I do want to mention the museum featuring memorabilia from the different wars since WWI. It would take a few days to read all of the stories, so after a while, I became more selective. My deepest despair hit me when I started reading the names of those who died in each of the wars. The names were printed in small type onto huge sheets of paper that covered the walls from ceiling to floor. It’s one thing to hear the numbers of those who gave their lives, but when you see all of the names, it better expresses the cost of war.

            I realize that’s a sad way to end a story about a wonderful trip to Branson. But I see it as a good moment to recognize the lives of those who gave their all for each of us, and for their families who will always bear the pain. All of those involved gifted us with the privilege of experiencing some of the good things in life. Right now, that’d be Branson.

end

hayter.mark@gmail.com                                                        

Walk in the Park with Brad May 11

 Hayter for May 11, 2025

“A Walk in the Park”

            Last week, Brad Meyer and I took another walk in the park. The experience is embarrassing to me. Let’s face it, we were once two racquetball-playing grown men, and now we’re two old guys walking in an area where children are playing.

I knew it would come to this. Just not this soon in my life. If Brad could find a healthy person he could still beat, he would be in the gym at this very minute. But no. Now the two of us are walking, talking, and taking turns listening.

We have been friends for a good while, yet I’ve never heard Bradly call me by my name. I’m liable to call him Bradford, Bradson, and on occasion, Brad. He calls me “Hey” and “You.” As in, “Hey, you wanna go get breakfast?”

For the three of you who wouldn’t know Brad Meyer from Oscar Mayer, I’ll give you a short biography: Over the years, he has been everywhere and done everything. --  I take that back. He’s never done anything in Oklahoma or Madagascar.

 obs than is healthy. He’s been a hotel manager in several locations, an emcee for various musical groups, and he used to referee boxing matches. He got the job by asking someone if he could. Son of a gun, he had a calling. He’d call out, “No head butting!” and “Okay, break it up! Back to your corners!”

Most of you remember Bradly from his articles with The Courier and a few other publications. He wrote on a wide range of topics. On occasion, he’d review plays at the Crighton. For a while, he involved himself in reviewing restaurants. I thought him too honest to be a food critic. Eventually, he asked if I would join him in his food reviews. We eventually developed online videos of our restaurant reviews. A few of the episodes are still on YouTube. Eventually, his wife Nancy replaced me. She was a much better choice.

If we can get past the story of Brad Meyer, I’d like to return to our walk in the park. It was a walk, the distance of which had been shortened a bit by the flooding of the west fork of the San Jacinto River. The dam had apparently been opened a bit to lower the level of Lake Conroe, in anticipation of more rain. That’s just my guess. -- No one clears stuff with me.

While the river was flowing fast and high, the park was flooded with youngsters. This occurred on Cinco de Mayo. It commemorates a historical event that took place in 1862. That was when the people from a town in Mexico tried to overthrow the French, who had taken over the country because Mexico owed them money. The U.S. didn’t try to help our neighbor because we were involved in a Civil War at the time. – I only brought the topic up because I thought it was the reason youngsters were playing in the park on a school day. 

The parents of these children paid no attention to the fact that the fifth of May is no longer considered a day off for public schools in Texas. Perhaps the mob of children at the park were homeschooled. None of the Hayter children were homeschooled. That was because it was against the law to homeschool healthy kids when I was young. It was a law passed mostly by hordes of Texas mothers. Elsie Hayter participated in the march. Probably. 

There was not only a horde of children at the park, but also an attractive couple all dressed for a wedding. I thought they intended to get married in the park until I noticed a photographer taking pictures of them in beautiful areas of the park. 

It reminded me so much of what Kay and I didn’t do before our marriage. I had been working for the Texas Forest Service at their District 6 headquarters just south of Conroe. Kay and I had planned to get married during the Christmas Holidays, but the TFS dispatcher, Rodger Parker, recommended we get married during the Thanksgiving Holidays. I thought my old friend was a genius! 

When I told Kay about the idea, she was all for it. So, we got married in Pasadena in the preacher’s office, with our folks present. Kay and I had attended so many weddings of family and friends that we chose not to make a big deal out of ours. The fact that we couldn’t afford a big wedding had a little to do with our decision. But, for the most part, we just didn’t care to go to all of the trouble. We missed out on some gifts, but then we already had a toaster. 

Speaking of a toaster is only marginally related to Brad and me walking in the park. See how much Bradly gets me off topic? During our rest stop, midway through our journey, Brad and I got into a discussion about the speed of light. Brad was unaware of my last article, where I mentioned a recently located planet 120 light years from Earth. I had read that if we could travel twice the speed of light, we would not only be going really fast, but we would end up back in time.   

Brad stopped me right there. He said that it’s impossible to go back in time. That going beyond the speed of light would merely slow down time. I had seen several movies and TV series about space flight, so I knew I was right. That was when I told Bradford that we should finish the last leg of our walk. 

He said, “Sure. Hey, you wanna go get breakfast when we’re through?”

 end

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