Back in the Day. Aug 17

 Hayter for August 17, 2025

“Back in the day...”

Flag Football. Larry, my big brother, just grabbed my flag. 

            Do you know the last time the Hayter brothers got together? – Neither do I. We haven’t been on any adventures or even met at one another’s house or at a café in years. The scary thing about this is that we have no idea how many years we’ve got left.

  That’s what time will do to you. I’ve written about two million articles about the Hayter Family. Give or take. A handful were sad, but most were uplifting. I imagine there are only two of you who can remember many of my stories. While I still recall a lot of the family gatherings, I can’t remember much of what I wrote about them. And that is what time can do to you. Kick you right in the rear. 

That thought came to me a few minutes ago, after I listened to a song sung by the trio known as Pozo-Seco, a trio made up of Don Williams, Loftin Kline, and Susan Taylor. If you’re old enough to have heard them, you’re likely too old to remember them. The song I’m referring to is called “Time.” The key line to the lyrics is “Time O’ time, where did you go?” 

That’s an indication that the song is less than perky. However, it’s sung beautifully… as was the popular song ‘Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley.” A different trio sang that one.

Most of us may have memories of our early past. Those who don’t are likely not reading this. A few have fortunately managed to forget their past. Me? I have reached an age where I can recall more about my childhood than I can about what happened last week. (That’s a line that the less-young share way too often.) 

During my elementary and Junior High school days, I can remember the names of most of my teachers, but I never gave a thought about the problems they might’ve been going through. In those days, I selected ME to be the one person I needed to worry about. It was a time when I did fairly well in my classes but had little confidence in myself. Over the years, my mind still refuses to eliminate my planted “uncertainties.”

Each summer from the time I was born to the time I was a junior in high school, our family’s yearly vacation was a two-week trip to and from Bristow, Oklahoma, to meet Mom’s family and Dad’s grandpa. 

After at least 10 years of Oklahoma visits, I began noticing that time was not being kind to Mom’s family. It would’ve been so much better had Mom and Dad let Dennis and me stay home from the Oklahoma trip, and our oldest sister checked on us periodically. My big sister Lynda was the nicest babysitter on the planet. It would’ve broken my heart had we ever upset her. By the way, Lynda and three other Hayter children were born in Bristow, Oklahoma. God was kind to the last three Texan children, Big Al, Jill, and me. 

Since the ‘70s, we have only visited the Oklahoma family for funerals. Here it is 50 years later, and there is no longer any excuse for us to return to Bristow.

My time immediately after high school did not fly by.  I spent four summers working at a chemical plant near Houston to pay for college. After four years at Stephen F. Austin in Nacogdoches, I was awarded a bachelor’s degree in forestry, which qualified me to get a job with the Texas Forest Service at Conroe’s District 6 headquarters. I’ve written a few stories about the two years I worked there. 

The time I spent in college and with TFS put me in Montgomery County.  That’s where I am right now. The reason Kay and I are still here is because I got a master’s degree from Sam Houston State University, which allowed me to teach anything that involved History or Political Science. After I graduated, I ended up teaching at McCullough High School in The Woodlands for six years. Afterward, I spent the rest of my teaching at Oak Ridge High, just across the freeway from The Woodlands. 

 Our Christmas shopping and Movie watching were done in The Woodlands, but my lawn mowing and weed eating are still being done in Conroe. I take that back; Kay does most of the mowing. I would’ve kept the job myself, but she was actually better at mowing than I was..  

Concerning time, the best thing that ever happened to Kay and me was that we lived long enough to retire. We’re two weeks apart in age. I’m the younger one. My Dad lived only one year before his death by heart attack. He was 61 at the time. That thought still breaks my heart. I was able to retire from teaching at the age of 53 in the year 2003. I never deserved such a blessing. 

I started my column back in 1980 and have published a novel, “The Summer of ‘76” and a book of  Christmas Stories. I am about to finish completion on two other novels. I hope to make both of them audiobooks. That should take me a couple more years. If it takes much longer, my voice is likely to sound like somebody’s grandpa. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

            Yes, I like to think that Kay and I have made use of our lengthy retirement. I only wish Faris Hayter, my dad, had had a longer time doing what he really wanted to do. He told me that he wanted to be a writer. He read a lot. Mostly Westerns. On occasion, the family would gather around Dad’s recliner and listen to his stories. Those times seemed to zoom by.

            Yes, those were the days, my friend. Time that got away from Kay and me several years back. Time that I would never wish to relive. Life as an older man has been very, very good to me. Kay tells me that she feels the same. At the moment we’re living the good time. It’s shorter, but for me it’s such a blessing. Until it’s not. That’s what time can do if you stay around long enough.

end

hayter.mark@gmail.com                                                        

Kay Family Reunion Aug 10, 2015

Hayter for August 10, 2025

 Kay's Family Reunion

            I’m through with high school reunions. I’ve been to three of them as a teacher. I went to those because a few students asked me to show up. The occasions were somewhat enjoyably awkward. I couldn’t remember names to save my rear.

“Hey, it’s Mr. Hayter. You look okay, sir, but you’ve aged a lot. The biggest reason I could remember faces is because everyone, but a handful of the students, changed quite a bit it by the time they reached middle age. Age had treated them, not as bad as me, but different. Time can sure do that. --“No duh, Mr. Hayter.” That’s what I would’ve been told had I brought it up at any of the reunions.

Speaking of which, as mentioned, I went to three reunions of students I taught, but I went to only one of my own. That happened during the first week of August in 1987 when I attended my own 20-year high school reunion. It was my first and last. I wrote an article about it a week or so after the reunion. I’ll now share some of it. I changed names to protect my rear. Here goes.

~~~~~~

            I told myself that I wouldn’t go to this thing, but I managed to talk Kay into going with me. In fact, I just asked if she would get us a couple of Cokes from the bar. Out of the senior class of 425, there were 150 people in attendance. Probably a large percentage of them brought their spouses with them.

            The first person I ran into that evening was Brenda. She was manning the registration desk… or more precisely, womaning it. I couldn’t believe it, the Brenda I remembered was less than elegant. But age had been kind to that girl. As soon as she saw me, she began telling people at the table what I’d said in government class that cracked everybody up. I don’t recall saying what she said, but I let it go because I was fairly quick-witted back then. 

            When Kay walked up with our Cokes, I was flabbergasted at the price. It cost me $50 to attend the thing, and now I have to pay $1.50 for a wineglass of Sprite! I don’t know why they didn’t plan the thing for the gym. I guess the class of ’67 didn’t pull much weight with Pasadena High. Or Brenda chose the hotel auditorium, so she could dress like a princess.

            Speaking of armed robbery, do you have any idea what George is doing for a living? You know, the guy who was the craziest, most unpredictable, Wildman in school? He’s a Houston police officer! If anyone were to ask who the last person who should be carrying a gun, it would be George. I didn’t know if he had changed, or if his Dad had become head of the Police force.

            While Kay was talking to one of the wives who had graduated from Sam Rayburn High with her, I started mingling. I managed to meet three of my friends who had become lawyers. Not a one of them was into criminal law. I can only imagine that there is no money in it. I ran across Ralph, who was someone on the football team who, unlike me, was good. He had played ball at Texas Tech and looked like The Hulk. He was a bit less Hulkish at the reunion. Why did I feel good about that?

            I got to talk to one of my teachers. Mr. Phillips. I didn’t expect him to remember me, and I ended up unsurprised. He was a great teacher and apparently retired. I surmised that after guessing his age was at least 70. I imagine he was coaxed to attend. A bit later, I ran into Wanda. She was among the most beautiful girls at school. When we were seniors, there was only one person who loved Wanda more than my friend Mike, and that was Wanda.

            I talked to James for a good while. We were fairly close. I asked him if he remembered the time we escaped from P.E. and dammed up the ditch along the football field, so we could flood the whole thing. Of course, time has added much to the extent of the flooding. James merely said, “Yes, Coach was really upset, wasn’t he?” I guess it wasn’t really a big deal to him. When I’m 80 years old, I’ll tell the story to my great-grand nephews and see if they’ll believe that we flooded the entire football field and the gym.  

            My biggest disappointment at the reunion was seeing Larry again. The guy was voted Class Clown. The guy was extremely funny and only marginally weird. Now he’s just weird. He said he got a PhD in Accounting. He told me that three times. I’m not sure Accounting even comes with a PhD.

            It’s a shame how everyone has changed. I’m sure they think the same of me, if they think anything at all. I had practically forced my best friend Johnny to show up at the reunion. He hated the thought but did attend. In fact, when Kay and I left, he was cutting up with a couple of our friends. Maybe it’s just me who can never go home.

End

hayter.mark@gmail.com

August Birthdays for Aug 3, 2025

Hayter for August 3, 2025

Forty-seven percent of all Birthdays are in August. Probably. 

Mark and Kay, a few months before they got married

            Kay’s birthday is three days from now. I would’ve gotten her a gift were I any good at it.  I’m not good with women's gifts. – Watermelon? Kay realizes that I’m good at picking that out.  

            My dad was actually worse than I am at selecting gifts for his wife, Elsie. That’d be my mom. I was bad at getting her gifts, too. I got things I thought she might need. Things she already had. I never did that with Kay. – “Whoa, this package feels like something important,” she might say. “Yes, it’s a new mixer, darling.”

My choices for Kay are clothes, jewelry, or a purse. Over the past 53 years of our marriage, the styles of women’s clothing have gone all over the place. It wasn’t long in our marriage that I told her I was not wise enough to know what women want. She immediately asked how many women I intended to buy for.

Kay borrowed her quick wit from her husband. I’ve mentioned before how we eventually agreed to pick out and buy our own gifts. It may sound crass, but it’s saved a marriage. The gifts we buy ourselves  don’t even have to be tied to a holiday or any other occasion. 

The process involves a lot of trust. The only time we need one another’s blessing is when we’re about to buy something expensive. While we do trust one another, we’re not idiots. I recently turned over the job of balancing the checkbook to her. For some reason, being in charge of the checkbook can really sober a spouse up.

Before we married, the first gift I ever got her was a football jersey with a big 89 on the front. My number in high school was 11, but I wanted Kay to be a defensive end, not a defensive safety. 

The girl could not catch a football or baseball without a basket. And she threw just like a girl, even when she was the age of a woman. I thought it would take her a while to catch on. Unlike my mother, Kay never screamed as the ball approached. The only time I heard the girl scream was when a couple of dogs in our neighborhood were trying to catch a small deer. I would not want that woman after me.

Kay quit playing all sports with the family as soon as she figured she had already won me over. I’m assuming her logic was that “If the guy will divorce me for not playing sports, he’s not worth having.” 

While playing football, if anyone had tackled her, she would’ve left me. I figured that out quite soon. During one of the early football games, my big brother, Larry, tossed the football to Kay, who was wide open. Nobody felt the need to guard Kay. Unfortunately, Larry didn’t consider tossing her a slow lob. That football hit her right in the face. It hurt, but she didn’t cry. She just quit. I still blame Larry for ruining Kay’s marginal interest in sports.

To this day, the only gift Kay could give me is taking our 2002 Highlander in for an oil change and inspection. If you ask me, a guy my age shouldn’t have to get his car inspected. I thought they quit inspections in Texas. Of course, they didn’t in Montgomery County and several others. Our State Legislature is still spending time trying to gerrymander five Democratic districts. But they still want to give me a ticket if my car isn’t inspected. – Okay, I’m through with that. 

            As mentioned, Kay’s birthday is in three days. It’s on the same day I have an appointment with my brain doctor. Kay has to accompany me to the doctors, because I can’t remember squat about what they tell me. I don’t care that my hip bone is connected to my thigh bone, and that’s an example of my real problem. I have trouble remembering lyrics to a few songs and the person who sang them.

            That’s one of the reasons I have to see my brain Doctor, Swaroopa Pulivarthi. She is an exceptionally nice lady with a great sense of humor. --  Spellcheck just informed me that I misspelled her last name. I would’ve thought I messed up the “Swaroopa” part, but I got that right, too. – My Spellcheck doesn’t take into consideration names that come from Asia.

            Surely, I’ve mentioned it before (and no, I didn’t call you Shirley),  but I had three bouts of COVID. I have forgotten quite a bit since then. Mostly people’s names and song lyrics. My brothers always felt the need to tell me to quit singing. Singing was the only talent of mine that they were jealous of. After I married Kay, she took over telling me what not to do. We have no children, so Kay occasionally treats me like one. I am so tolerant it’s scary.

Anyway, Dr. Swaroopa will explain the results of my brain tests. The people who tested me wrote that I did okay. After my doctor gives me good news about the mental improvements, I’m taking Kay to, uh…Babin’s! I think that’s what she recommended.

            When she takes me out to eat for my birthday, Culver's sounds good to me, but Kay will want to go someplace deserving of her husband. That girl. –  If only she had learned to catch with her hands instead of her face. 

end

hayter.mark@gmail.com        

Back to School for July 27,, 2025

 Hayter for July 27, 2025

School: The way Hayter remembers it 

I used to be a schoolteacher, but eventually gave it all up so I could retire. Teaching was a great experience for me, but there’s a time when a few get experienced-out. I say that, to say this – “The first day of school is about to hit!”

This year’s teachers must show up seven workdays before the kids show up. When I taught, it was called in-service. I don’t know what they call it now. When I began my teaching career, we showed up four days before the students arrived. On the fourth day, we were allowed to do our preparations for the next day when the students packed the hallways. 

This year, Conroe I.S.D. came up with a seven-day “in-service” program for teachers. They arrive on Monday, August 4^th, and finish up on August 12. For the first week, teachers will hear about the things they must do, some things they should do, and some things that could get their buns fired. 

There will likely be a meeting for new teachers. Their information will be rather positive. “They’re in a great school district; each one of them is God’s gift to young people. If you have any problems, ask someone for help. 

All Conroe ISD personnel will likely get to hear Interim Superintendent Dr. Ted Landry. I can only assume that he is the son of Dallas Cowboys coach Tom Landry, who died in 2000. My sympathy to Dr. Landry for the passing of his possible father. I liked Tom the Cowboy Coach. Sure, he was hard to get along with and never smiled, but he managed to get some good quarterbacks. 

 My understanding is that from 2018 to 2025, Dr. Landry was the principal at The Woodlands High School. In March, he was hired by The Humble ISD to be an Assistant Superintendent. In May, he was selected as Interim Superintendent for Conroe ISD. There was no time in my life when I had two employers offer me a job at the same time. That, and only one girl agreed to marry me. We were 22 at the time. Her choices were slim. But let’s get past that, shall we? 

Used to be the first day of school started the Tuesday after “Labor Day.” The entire month of August was free for you to sit out at night or play Monopoly indoors. By the way, this year’s students have 11 holidays. Five of them are multiple days off. When I was a student in the Pasadena ISD, we got two days off for Thanksgiving, two weeks off for Christmas, two days for Easter, Columbus Day, and a handful of other one-day excuses to stay home. The words Spring and Break had yet to be placed together.

Before shutting this piece down, I want to share something with you about homeschooling in Texas. This State doesn’t give a rat’s rear about getting any grades from, reports of, or tests from any homeschooler. Yes, there are some homeschoolers whose parents hire ex-teachers to teach their kids. In doing so, I imagine they give tests, homework, and the like. And, they may make their children take a GED Test. None of that is mandatory.

However, the minimum requirements from the State of Texas don’t even keep up with the number of days or weeks in a homeschooler’s school year. From what I learned, your “teacher” could be as dumb as a rock and still teach your child. It’s easy because there are only a few requirements. For ages six to 19, there are no tests required. And no State employee will come to your house to check on how your kids are doing. The only subjects necessary are reading, spelling, math, grammar, and good citizenship. If you manage all of that, Texas does not award the graduate with a diploma. I think you get a Home Schooler Certificate, good for anyone who will accept it. Again, these are minimum requirements for homeschooling. 

I’ve read about homeschoolers who are as smart as, or smarter than, many who graduate from high school. That’s because their parents were likely able to hire instructors of math, science, history, English, a foreign language(s)… whatever. And there are organizations not tied to the State of Texas, which have several ways to help homeschoolers.

While there are more knowledgeable homeschooling teachers than in some public schools, I doubt many of them are as communicative with their students as most teachers in public schools are with a classroom of students. Yes, I’m a bit prejudiced about that.

However, a really good thing about homeschooling is that your kids don’t have to ride a bus. The tolerance level allowed on a bus depends solely on the bus driver. My bus driver didn’t put up with much. As a result, he didn’t have to spend as much time stopping the bus to straighten someone out.

As far as riding the bus was concerned, I had it better than most because Dennis, my big brother, rode the bus with me. Of course, he never sat next to me.  Dennis had a line drawn beyond which he would not step. But he would take up for his kid brother. 

            Yes, siree, starting a new school year will give many teachers and students something to talk about. But only for those who care to share. I retired from school two decades ago, and I finally made it to where I only remember the good things about it. I think God has something to do with that. I pray that he’ll have a lot to do with keeping the 2025-2026 Conroe ISD school year among the best for all. That’s a stretch, but it could sure happen.  

end

hayter.mark@gmail.com                                                        

Death by Plastic July 20, 2025

 Hayter for July 20, 2025

“Forget about me. Save yourselves”

 

            This week’s article is intended to awaken us to a reality that will bring an end to mankind. I’m not all that worried about it because I’m as good as gone. I’d carry this out a little longer, but I don’t have as much time as you do.

Let me cut to the chase and tell you what’s happening. It’s microplastics. They’re all over the place. You’ve been ingesting them for years and didn’t know it. The keyboard that I’m tapping on right now is covered in microscopic pieces that are getting into my skin, mouth, ears, nose, and probably my hair follicles. There’s too much plastic in my life.   

Forty percent of everything in my house is covered in plastic flakes. Even my cereal, which is stuffed into a plastic bag and then crammed into a cardboard box. The surface of my desk and the drawers are covered with tiny pieces of microplastic. You’re inhaling them at this very minute. If your toilet seat is made of plastic, you’re hauling around a load of the stuff. 

If they had the time and the concern, the CSB could type out a set of encyclopedias listing from A to Z the items, including internal and external body parts, food in the refrigerator, freezer, shoes, clothing… everything that contains microplastics in it.--  Beg your pardon? Sorry. CSB is the Chemical Safety Board. President Trump closed it down after learning about microplastics. -- That’s a lie. Like me, the President thought CSB was a TV channel.

In the last 10 years, microplastics have increased by 50 percent. The creation of the first plastic was back in 1862. By 1907, a gentleman by the name of Bakelite invented the first synthetic plastic. To do tha,t he stirred up different chemicals until he got something that he thought would be good for raincoats, umbrellas, and car seats.

There are multiple ways that plastic can enter your body. You can eat it and possibly choke to death. That’s the easiest way, but it’s rarely done. It’s best that you just keep doing what you're doing. The atomic plastic particles are flying around in your house, hiding in your clothes, your lamps, your car, garage, refrigerator… Yes, I’m getting tired of naming things! They’re everywhere. It won’t be long before you get to read the Plastic Encyclopedia.  

I learned all of this stuff earlier this morning. I was pleasantly ignorant before that. It turns out that plastic has atomic and molecular microbes that end up all over you. Yes, your ears, nose, underarms, and whatever else your body is made of. And what all of these microbes do is attach themselves to everything in your body that is transported by blood or air. Your brain is full of plastic flakes. 

The ailments created by microplastics have grown in number over the years. We just didn’t know about them until some nosy scientist determined that the causes of heart disease, cancer, and practically every ailment known to mankind can be tied to plastic. I quit reading after finding out that dementia was among the illnesses. At this very moment, all of us have tiny pieces of plastic floating around in our brains. I’m surprised I was able to remember that.  

Speaking of the nice outfit you’re wearing, there’s a good chance that it’s covered in microplastics. Polyester material contains both petroleum and plastic. As you might imagine, bottled water has microscopic plastic flakes floating in it. Practically every soft drink, fruit juice, mustard, and mayonnaise container, pill, pair of underwear… It’s all married to plastic. 

Oh yeah, and before stepping into your house, you need to leave your shoes on either the porch or in the flowerbed, because minuscule plastic fibers are floating in the air, covering some of the vegetation, and floating atop the sidewalk.

The best way to stop our microplastic problem would be to go back to 1862 and find a guy named Alexander Parkes, who created the first plastic. I think he made it out of some kind of plant life. In 1909, a guy invented plastic out of milk. I’m fairly sure it was an accident. With each decade, more types of plastic were created from the imaginations and mistakes of inventors. 

The only thing that would end the production of plastic would be the invention of a less environmentally damaging material for packaging. Unfortunately, unless it’s cheaper than plastic, nobody’s going to buy the new stuff. After all, we’re not stupid.  

Speaking of which, did you ever see the episode of The Twilight Zone, when a man got a chance to go back in time and stop the assassination of Lincoln? It turns out that he was unsuccessful because people thought he was trying to kill Lincoln. He couldn’t win for losing. I’ve had that problem myself. 

If we were able to go back in time to prevent the creation of plastics, I assume a new Twilight Zone might come up showing the impossibility of changing the past. It reminds me of the poem written by the Persian poet Omar Khayyam around 1100 AD. The 55th verse of the massively long poem reads “The moving finger writes and having writ, moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.” In other words, you can’t go back in time.

Of course, that’s what I must do right now. I’ve shared with you the many dangers of plastic. Now that we know of the dangers, what can we do about them? I’m going to follow the words of Forest Gump’s mom, who said, “Forest, dying is a part of life.” -- If that doesn’t perk you up, nothing will.  

                                                  end

hayter.mark@gmail.com                                                        

The rise of underwear and coffee July 13

 Hayter for July 13, 2025“

                   The Rise of Underwear and Coffee   

                               

            This morning, I found myself mulling over some of the changes I’ve made over the years.  Take underwear, for instance. I’m to understand that my first underwear were actually diapers. As I remember, they were bulky pieces of white cloth covered in powder and so thick that I couldn’t put my knees together.

            From there, I went to wearing white briefs, the same as wrestlers still wear, only theirs come in different colors. I haven’t done enough research to determine who it was that thought children should take on the style of wrestler-briefs. Ghandi’s parents refused to buy them. 

            There was a time when Dennis and I wore our briefs outside. Mom must’ve suggested it, because I would’ve never come up with it. So we’re running around in the front yard like we had sense.

            Eventually, I quit playing around in briefs. It happened shortly before Dennis started school at Gardens Elementary, one of the few elementary schools without a garden in sight. To start school, my big brother got some new blue jeans and shirts with buttons. I don’t remember much of my early life when Dennis wasn’t there. I imagine I played outside while wearing shorts and a T-shirt with its short sleeves rolled up to my shoulders. I’ve got a picture.

I think I was in high school when I swapped my briefs for boxers. That’s what happens when you become a man. If I recall, my dad wore boxers all his life. Of course, I missed out on his early years in Bristow, Oklahoma, so I don’t know what he wore back then. Being the fifth child in the Hayter family, I was the first to be born in Texas. If Dad hadn’t lost his job in the oil fields, I would’ve been the fifth Hayter born in Oklahoma. -- See how bad things can turn out to be blessings?

 I wore boxers up until 1989, when someone invented boxer briefs. The material was tight like briefs, but only longer at the thighs. While I still wear the style, I recently purchased a pack of boxer underwear for old time’s sake. I find that I like the loose fit. I’m not crazy about the name, though. I didn’t know the name until I opened the package containing six pairs of tightly rolled underwear.

I decided to open the package at home instead of at Sam’s. No way could anyone get those shorts back in the bag. At home, I couldn’t help but notice that the inch-and-a-half elastic band around the top of the boxers had the name “Lucky Brand” stenciled all around the band.  What a lousy name for anything, especially underwear! That’s a name that just dares you to have bad luck.

I can see a nurse in the emergency room saying, “Dr. Wilma, this is our third patient this week wearing 'Lucky Brand' boxers. – Wilma replies, “These %^&* men! When will they ever learn to read labels?” --  That’s why I only wear my Lucky Brand boxers around the house.  

That’s pretty much how I learn things -- from experience. Take coffee, for instance. I first tried it when I was young, because I wanted to be like my daddy, a man who started chewing tobacco at the age of nine. I worked up the courage to ask Mother if she would make me a cup of coffee so I could see what it was like. I don’t know what possessed her, but she actually made me a cup of Folgers Instant coffee. Dad always bought the cheapest coffee possible. He was likely unaware that instant coffee is what they serve in prison. I’m not even aware of it,

A thought hit me immediately after taking my first sip of coffee. -- How on earth could anyone enjoy a hot, strong cup of an acrid liquid? Of course, at that time, I had yet to learn the word “acrid”. The one thing that got me to enjoy coffee was my summer job at Ben Foster’s Pipe Insulation and Adhesives Plant. I’ve mentioned it a few times because the place keeps haunting me. I worked there for four summers to pay my way through college.

At BF, the first thing the guys did every morning was sit around on five-gallon buckets, drink coffee, and chew the fat. That was my second time trying coffee. It turned out that the coffee was actually brewed! I was blind to the brewed, but now I can see!  It changed my life.    

 Since retirement, I’ve introduced myself to Keurig K-Cups. The Keurig maker can brew a cup of coffee within a minute. I don’t know how it works, but I’m thinking the process is dangerous. But I’ve agreed to accept whatever happens. 

Recently, I accidentally introduced myself to cold coffee. I bravely took a sip of coffee that I had left on the cabinet for most of the day. Well, I took a sip of the stuff and didn’t cringe. In fact, I thought it was refreshing, a word often used in commercials. Now I brew two cups of coffee each morning. I put one in the refrigerator to drink in the evening. Each day, I end up drinking two hot coffees and one cold. I don’t know what my dad would’ve thought of that. It’s likely better that he didn’t live to witness it. 

Those are only two examples of me dealing with change. I don’t mean to be pushy, but at a gathering of family or friends, it might be a good moment to share the cause of some of the changes in your life. Such moments can keep family and friends closer together. 

End

hayter.mark@gmail.com                                                        

Jill visit July 6, 2025

 Hayter for July 6, 2025

A welcome visit from Jill

            My kid sister, Jill, visited last week to pick up her car. I let her borrow my Yaris so I could have Christopher Auto, in Conroe, work on her Toyota Matrix. Jill doesn’t trust the mechanics in her area.

 ill is the most worrisome of my siblings… probably. I haven’t been in contact with my sister Susan, who lives near Seattle, so I’m unaware of any family goings on in the Northwest. Before Mom’s passing in 2006, seven of us siblings kept up with one another. We each called Mom throughout the week, and she shared with us anything important about the rest of the crew.  

About once a month, Jill managed to arrange events for the family. At times, Al and I would invite the family to Conroe. Either that or everyone would gather at Jill’s house. Our family has numerically gotten so large that Al and I have curbed our hosting of get-togethers.

I particularly enjoyed Jill’s latest visit. I enjoy our conversations. She is dead set against men. She experienced too much bad juju in her multi-year role as “wife.”  And the years she had an office at San Jacinto Jr. College warehouse were a real test for her. It was there that she developed a lack of respect for men. I once felt obligated to let her know that I am one among a few billion human males. She said, “Yeah, right. But you seem to take things better.” --  I said, “Okay, but I’m still scared of you.”  --  My sense of humor is well-connected with my kid sister. 

Apparently, Kay wanted a change of subject, because out of the blue, she said, “Bob Newhart’s dead.” What a lousy subject change! Bob Newhart reminded me of me. And she just blurted out that he died. That got us talking about our favorite Newhart series. It was the one called “The Bob Newhart Show.” I thought it was a decent title. Johnny Carson’s show was merely called “Johnny Carson.” Apparently, the producers of Bob Newhart’s second series, liked the simple name of Carson’s show, so they named theirs “Carson”—I mean “Newhart.” Can we stay on the subject here?   

 “Newhart” was an okay series, just not as good as the first. We couldn’t remember, nor care about, any of his later series. Before leaving the topic, I asked Kay what Newhart died of. She said, “I don’t remember.”

That threw me off a bit, because she had just read about it. So, I asked, “Well, when did he die, darling?” – She said, “He passed away last year in mid-July.” 

That was a real kick in the rear, so I sanely asked her why she waited so long to blurt out the news of his passing. I had actually remembered his dying, but didn’t know what gave Kay the thought to bring it up. After all, a lot of other famous people had died more recently. When I asked her about that, Jill grinned and said, “Why make a big deal out of it, Moke?” Jill had meandered back to her dislike of men. 

Fortunately,she chose to change the subject. “That reminds me,” she said. “Isn’t it crazy how we use so many appliances and such, yet don’t know what makes them work. We push a button, and ‘Walla!’  I interrupted with, “Are you talking about handkerchiefs, to which she replied, “Moke, don’t make me hurt you.”

By the way, Jill calls me “Moke” because it’s short for Smokey, as in “Smokey the Bear.” She came up with that after I became a forester with the Texas Forest Service in Conroe, back in ’71. I’m sure I’ve mentioned that before, but it never hurts to bring up some of your life’s experiences. 

Kay wisely chose to latch onto the conversation about our lack of understanding of how things work. She mentioned our TV remote. “You push a button, and some kind of invisible ray comes out of the remote and hits part of the TV that somehow changes a channel or turns up the volume up, or freezes the, uh—” 

I interrupted her to say, “Yes, darling. We have no idea how all of that happens. But what about cell phones? I don’t even know what they’re called nowadays. Androids, smartphones, iPhones. Each one of them with tiny digital keyboard that is impossible for a person over the age of one to hit individually. How do they make stuff like that? They now have one that you can attach to your eyeglasses. The tiny device mysteriously sends a signal to a tower at the speed of light. From there, it goes to a satellite, which sends it to another tower. And each of these towers and satellites grab hold, sorts, and then relays millions of signals all at once. 

            That brought up the question, how many people on this planet have a clue as to what the next magic device will be, or has been done? Maybe 100,000 people in India, China, and Massachusetts have a clue as to how things work. But eight billion of us remain are in the dark.

            An hour or so after that, we called it a night. -- “Night!” -- Jill said it before I did. She’s quick.

The next morning, I helped Jill put her things into her newly repaired Matrix. I told her to call me when she got home. She forgot to call me, and I forgot to call her to tell her she forgot to call me. Yes, there comes a time when we get too involved in ourselves. More to the point, we just forget. It seems to have become quite common.

End

hayter.mark@gmail.com        

               

Jury Duty June 29, 2025

 

Hayter for June 29, 2025

“This week’s message involves Jury Duty."

Have you ever gotten a notice for jury duty? If you own a business, it’s probably bad news. You’ll need a good excuse to get out of it. The excuse has to be better than “Hey, I’ve gotta job!” Of course, if your job is working in a hospital emergency room, you might skate out. 

Several times, I have received the order to appear at the courthouse for jury selection. I was a school teacher at the time of each summons. That meant I had to come up with an assignment for my substitute to give to all the students. When I returned to school, I had to grade all the papers. 

Oh, and if you’re teaching two or more subjects, you’ll have to spend more time inventing different assignments. Working your buns off to come up with assignments for a substitute is not a valid excuse for skipping jury duty. I’ve never tried it, so I can’t be certain of that. 

Speaking of which, when I got old enough to pass on a jury notice, I filled out a form asking to be removed me from the list. I felt terrible about it, but the time had come. One thing that would’ve made me feel more terrible about it is if I called the courthouse and asked to be put back on the jury list.

            The only time I was ever selected on a jury involved a case in Huntsville. It involved a sweet old lady who came terribly close to getting run over while trying to cross the street at one of Huntsville’s in-city hills. The young lady driving over the hill noticed the pedestrian at the last second. The squeal of her tires frightened, and the quick swerve caused the jay-walker to fall and injure a leg or some other body part. I can’t remember.

            After each lawyer offered a summation of the case, we were released to go to lunch. The judge assured us that were we to discuss the case with another juror, we would be castigated. The fact that some of the jurors were women, I assumed the word didn’t mean what I thought it did.

However, I ended up doing something that could’ve castigated me. I went to the site of the mishap to see what it would’ve been like to drive to the top of that hill and immediately see someone creeping in the middle of the road on the other side of the hill? -- By the way, I never shared that information with the other jurors, three of whom I noticed standing on the sidewalk at the top of the hill.

            When we returned to the courthouse, we were escorted to the jury room. The first thing we did was choose the jury foreman. The person selected was an old guy who immediately volunteered. No one seemed to care, so he got the job. After my road inspection, I came up with some important stuff. Something like, “I’ve driven over that hill before. Had an old lady been walking across it, I would’ve had to smash her.”  

Unfortunately, the first thing the foreman asked for was a show of hands to see who considered the defendant not guilty. Twelve hands went up. My investigation was a waste of time.

I assumed the foreman would open the door and wave at the doorman in the hall. I’m sure he had a title. However, it didn’t matter because the foreman didn’t go to the door. Instead, he asked, “So how much are we going to make the plaintiff pay?” Everyone except for me nodded as if to say, “Oh yeah. I forgot about that.”

That’s when I raised my hand and said, “Excuse me.” I got some stares with that one, so I said, “Look, we just ruled in favor of the defendant. She wins the case, but would have to sue the plaintiff before she could get any money out of it. So the plaintiff  doesn’t have to pay anyone, but her lawyer.”

 After some quiet mumbling in the room, the foreman said, “Let me handle this, okay? All right, the lady who frightened the jaywalker doesn’t have to pay anything. So I need to check the box labelled ‘defendant’. Right?

When we entered the courtroom, each juror (including me) refused to look at the plaintiff. I felt sorry for the old lady, but I was also frightened by her. Fortunately, the jury was the first to get to leave.

Second jury duty: Several years later, I was one of a bunch of people summoned for jury duty in Conroe. We were told to grab a chair in the hallway while the two lawyers tried to settle their case out of court. We stayed in the hallway until about 11:30. That was when a well-dressed guy walked up and told us that the lawyers had agreed to compromise. Then he told us to come back in the morning for another case.

At that point, one guy got majorly steamed. I’m calling him Smith. The man had already missed one day of work and was now told that he had to lose at least one more. Of course, he got five bucks for each day. Hopefully, they pay a bit more now.

The next morning, we all showed up and wandered the hallway till 11:00. That’s when we were told once again that both sides had agreed on a settlement. It seemed that everyone was happy, except for Mr. Smith.

Well, we each did our duty. But I’ve gotta tell you, jurisprudence was tough to handle that week, my friend.

End

hayter.mark@gmail.com