File #930: "Mosaic_Spring2009_12.jpg"
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like a typical parental reaction. I get yelled at for scaring them and then hugged if I were all right. My vision was not getting any better. I screamed, "I can't see! I can't see!" My mother came running out of the house. I heard her voice, so I ran toward it. She told me to take off my glasses. I did and the red disappeared, but I still could not see normally. My eyes were burning like fire. Mom said that I was okay because I could not see anything without my glasses. If I did not see red anymore, it was a good sign.
Then, instead of that hug I mentioned earlier, mom began to laugh. She tried not to, but she said she could not help it. My mother said she could not have dipped me in a bucket of red paint and did a better job than what I had done. She took me into the kitchen and tried to wash the paint off. No surprise, my bad luck was holding. Soap and water were no match for spray paint. My father brought in some gasoline to take the paint off. Mom worked on me for two hours, stopping every few minutes to laugh at me. She said it was so hard for her to look at me without laughing, but she still loved me. It was not easy having to stand there for that long knowing I looked like an idiot. The only white places on me were two round circles where my glasses had been. My ears were red, my hair was red, my neck was red; I looked like a big red lollypop. I wanted it off! It burned and stung. It was worth going through the gas bath to get back to normal.
Worst of all, Monday I had to face my friends at school with not only red glasses but burn marks from the gas we used to remove my mistake. When my coach asked what happened, I told him. Naturally, everybody in school found out. I was the joke of the day, and they never let me forget it.
The truth was I never again took it for granted if my father told me not to do something. I was still a curious boy, but in the future I always listened to my father's advice. My mother and father still aggravate me about the day my world turned red. I am more cautious today than other kids I associate with. The incident of my childhood taught me a good lesson. I laugh about the incident still today; however, I will never forget.
"My Story Could Be Yours"
Jeff Woodside
It was a cold day when I was born, but even colder when I died. I could see everyone and no-one even cried. The scene was quite amazing as souls flew around and I wished my time wasn't over, but was alone, not anyone by my side. I guess I should tell you it wasn't always this way. I used to have a story that others liked to hear. I might as well to tell you my best friend was beer.
When I was five my uncle gave me my first taste of booze, and it seemed to be the worst tasting stuff in the world. I think the seed was planted as with all my kind, and I didn't know that it was just a matter of time. I grew up pretty normal (whatever that may be) there were a few instances that foretold what I would be. I started drinking in the 8th grade with some friends. The taste by then had changed; after all we had the hip drink of vodka and orange juice, better known as a screwdriver.
I used to be so innocent, shy, and timid, but I found my courage in the bottle. The taste got more tolerable, and I liked it more and more, but something new happened. I sometimes wound up on the floor. I reached high school and had some hippie friends, and it wasn't long till the pot joined in. I made good grades and still held my life together. The girls in school were lovely and they were the only thing that competed with partying. The majority of the girls partied, too, and I had a lot of girls in those days.
The next few years things got worse. I drank every night. I was married with children and often got in fights. It wasn't long till different drugs joined in, and my extended family was complete. Things ran smooth for awhile and good times were had by all, at least that's what I thought. There wasn't much thought or attention paid to the ones who really meant the most. Yes, my family paid the price for my rough and rowdy ways, but I couldn't see that because I was too busy with the bottle and always in a daze. The good times won't last forever is what people would say, but I knew they were crazy. After all I knew everything.
The troubles started slowly, but just as sparks fly upward they started. My family and job were the first to suffer and that was just a taste of the bitter pill I was about to swallow over and
Then, instead of that hug I mentioned earlier, mom began to laugh. She tried not to, but she said she could not help it. My mother said she could not have dipped me in a bucket of red paint and did a better job than what I had done. She took me into the kitchen and tried to wash the paint off. No surprise, my bad luck was holding. Soap and water were no match for spray paint. My father brought in some gasoline to take the paint off. Mom worked on me for two hours, stopping every few minutes to laugh at me. She said it was so hard for her to look at me without laughing, but she still loved me. It was not easy having to stand there for that long knowing I looked like an idiot. The only white places on me were two round circles where my glasses had been. My ears were red, my hair was red, my neck was red; I looked like a big red lollypop. I wanted it off! It burned and stung. It was worth going through the gas bath to get back to normal.
Worst of all, Monday I had to face my friends at school with not only red glasses but burn marks from the gas we used to remove my mistake. When my coach asked what happened, I told him. Naturally, everybody in school found out. I was the joke of the day, and they never let me forget it.
The truth was I never again took it for granted if my father told me not to do something. I was still a curious boy, but in the future I always listened to my father's advice. My mother and father still aggravate me about the day my world turned red. I am more cautious today than other kids I associate with. The incident of my childhood taught me a good lesson. I laugh about the incident still today; however, I will never forget.
"My Story Could Be Yours"
Jeff Woodside
It was a cold day when I was born, but even colder when I died. I could see everyone and no-one even cried. The scene was quite amazing as souls flew around and I wished my time wasn't over, but was alone, not anyone by my side. I guess I should tell you it wasn't always this way. I used to have a story that others liked to hear. I might as well to tell you my best friend was beer.
When I was five my uncle gave me my first taste of booze, and it seemed to be the worst tasting stuff in the world. I think the seed was planted as with all my kind, and I didn't know that it was just a matter of time. I grew up pretty normal (whatever that may be) there were a few instances that foretold what I would be. I started drinking in the 8th grade with some friends. The taste by then had changed; after all we had the hip drink of vodka and orange juice, better known as a screwdriver.
I used to be so innocent, shy, and timid, but I found my courage in the bottle. The taste got more tolerable, and I liked it more and more, but something new happened. I sometimes wound up on the floor. I reached high school and had some hippie friends, and it wasn't long till the pot joined in. I made good grades and still held my life together. The girls in school were lovely and they were the only thing that competed with partying. The majority of the girls partied, too, and I had a lot of girls in those days.
The next few years things got worse. I drank every night. I was married with children and often got in fights. It wasn't long till different drugs joined in, and my extended family was complete. Things ran smooth for awhile and good times were had by all, at least that's what I thought. There wasn't much thought or attention paid to the ones who really meant the most. Yes, my family paid the price for my rough and rowdy ways, but I couldn't see that because I was too busy with the bottle and always in a daze. The good times won't last forever is what people would say, but I knew they were crazy. After all I knew everything.
The troubles started slowly, but just as sparks fly upward they started. My family and job were the first to suffer and that was just a taste of the bitter pill I was about to swallow over and