Draw, Marshal Dillon, I'm feelin' frisky

Photo by Vicki Harris

Photo by Vicki Harris

I recently spent most of an afternoon trying to explain the song by Lee County's own Luke Bryan, "Rain is a Good Thing," to the 6-year-old boy. He had no problem with rain being a good thing. He could not, however, understand why "corn makes whiskey" and then whiskey makes his girl "frisky."

"What's frisky mean, Dad?"

"Well, you know son, it means you feel good, like running around and stuff."

"Oh, but why does whiskey make some girls frisky?"

"I don't know son, but I suspect you'll probably try to find out one day."

"Yeah, but what is whiskey anyway, Daddy?"

I said, "It's like medicine that only big people can take."

To which he replied, "Oh, like when you go to a ball game except I've never seen you look like you were frisky, Daddy. Does it only work on girls?"

I'm beginning to think maybe I should start listening to classical music or something.

Soon afterwards, the little boy began to complain that his grandfather did not like to watch scary movies. The little boy likes any scary movie, especially if it contains monsters, and violence. He said, "Granddaddy doesn't like scary movies, but you do, don't you, Daddy?"

I replied, to appease him, "Oh yes, you know I love scary movies."

He then wrinkled his brow and looked befuddled and said, "But when you get old like Granddaddy, you'll probably start watching stuff like 'Gunsmoke,' won't you, Dad?"

I didn't bother to tell him I have apparently already entered the dreaded stage of "Gunsmoke" watching and before long I will almost assuredly spiral down to watching Andy Griffith and "The Waltons." If it progresses to where I watch "Little House on the Prairie," I can only hope someone in the family is kind enough to euthanize me.

The 6-year-old volcano was ready to explode because we were going to see the Monster Truck Rally at the Albany Civic Center that night. He can tell you the name of every Monster Truck and if you give him a few seconds, transform pretty much into one. I'd never been to a Monster Truck show, although I have been to a tractor pull, so off we went.

I soon noticed that none of the trucks were the big names he was familiar with and, for the first time in my life, realized there must be some type B league for Monster Truck drivers.

The little boy soon complained that the show was, in his words, "Lame." He wanted to see the Undertaker and he was not impressed when they brought out the riding lawnmower races. Nevertheless, once the trucks began to smash a few cars, he seemed relatively pleased.

I couldn't help but wonder, how did this sport begin? Without question, it involved alcohol -- but what else?

"Slim Jim, what ya say we put big tires on your four-wheel Dodge Ram and run over Susie Johnson's Honda Civic across the street?"

"Aw-right, soon as I polish off this 12 pack of Pabst. Can we plow through her momma's gazebo, too?"

On the evolutionary chain of drunken mechanical ideas, Monster Trucks pale in comparison to riding lawnmower racing. These guys have tinkered with a lawnmower so it will now run somewhere around 50 mph. They all had fancy brands all suped up. I can tell you this, if I were to enter the riding lawnmower race, I'd drive only a Snapper mower and it would be financed by Snap Credit.

Maybe one day, when I'm feeling frisky, I'll fix one up. Right now, though, I've got to watch "Gunsmoke," and then "The Waltons."

Contact columnist T. Gamble at t@colliergamble.com.