My Old Man: Against the Win

By Ecklebob Chiselfritz

My father did the best he could with the cards he was dealt in life.

Alabama born and raised with barely any schooling because his father thought readin', ritin' and 'rithmetic interfered with a childs ability to be his indentured slave...

Let's leave it at gramps was a lazy no account bastard.

My old man left home at 17 and joined the Marines in time to go to Korea and be wounded by Chinese machine gun fire. He also carried shrapnel in the back of his left thigh for the rest of his life.

He never complained and he NEVER talked about his time in battle. Never.

I didn't know he had received the Purple Heart until after he was dead.

That's the kind of man he was.

He was the toughest son of a bitch I have met in my life.

Bar none

I'm gonna leave his biography there for now because I suck as a writer and don't want to be up till dawn writing a book.

I would guess it's 1968 I am eight years old or thereabouts.

 The old man is a truck driver.

He's sitting at the kitchen table filling out his log book.

The state of Illinois demanded truckers detail how they spent their time on the highways while on the clock.

They were allowed so many hours behind the wheel and then they had to "rest" for so many hours before they could continue driving.

And they damn well better remember Big Brother is watching!

The old man cheated like a whore who promises every customer she loves only him.

He wasn't alone in doing so.

Truck drivers were paid shit and had families to feed.

So the old man is sitting at the kitchen table penciling in how he might have spent a couple hours driving legally and lying about how he was off road when actually he drove non stop the entire time.

He looked up from his literary endeavour and asked, "How do you spell whin?"

My next oldest brother replied, "w.i.n."

The old man said, "No, whin."

My brother giggled and once again said, "w.i.n."

The old man is frustrated by this time. He hated having to fill out the log. I don't blame him. He worked like a dog and this always cut into his drinking time.

But God love him, he tried one more time.

"How do you spell whin?"

My brother the smart ass was exasperated by now and goes "W.I.N. like when you win a game. Isn't that what you mean?"

The old man  replied, "No, I mean whiiiin! Like whiiiin I  kick your ass."

Game. Set.  Match.