The Wish Book

 

Well, let me take you all the way back. Way, way back. I was a tiny little boy, and I had The Wish Book. There were certain items I still actually want. There was a Red Ryder BB gun, a blue dune buggy, Dingo boots, a sleeping bag, and a lantern.

As little people do, I had it all figured out. Daddy worked for Dobbins and came home with C-rations sometimes. I can still taste that doughy bread that held the shape of the can it was in until it was consumed. There was some seriously strong instant coffee, two pieces of chewing gum, three cigarettes, some pot roast or something akin to it. There were even mashed potatoes. All in all, it was not terrible. I think there was even canned cake.

When Daddy would bring rations home, I took them out and pretended to be a survivalist. I might not be hungry, but I’d eat a bite of that bread anyway. It was survival. I even lit a cigarette or two. I drank that coffee like a grown soldier.

Mom got me a BB gun and a little, plastic, red lantern. Another year I got the Dingo boots and the sleeping bag. Those were not toys to me; they were gear. Daddy built me a dune-buggy-like go-cart, complete with big, deep-lug tires. That thing was a beast. Why there are no pictures of that prized machine, I shall never know. He gave it away after I moved out and got married. I wish I had it today.

The frame was made out of an old cast-iron bed frame. Uncle Fletcher cut those rails and welded them together in the shape of my buggy. Fletcher also welded a platform on the back; that’s where Daddy bolted the engine. The seat had a crude metal frame made of angle iron and bolted to the bed rails. But plywood boards, foam, and vinyl worked for upholstery.

The steering wheel was exactly half of a steering wheel from an old car. It had an actual transmission, too—off an older mower. It did have a clutch, but the shifter was only for engaging the clutch or freeing it. The transmission was connected to the engine via a drive belt. It was wonderful. It had only one forward gear and no reverse.

Can you imagine? There I was, on my powerful, all-terrain machine, carrying a gun, rations, a lantern, and a sleeping bag. I thought I could probably get as far as California. I usually made it down to the creek and camped there until it got dark. I’d turn on my lantern, and then I would hear a noise coming from just beyond its range. That’s when I’d start packing it all in.

 I was escaping.

Back inside the house, my mom and dad would be fighting. That was something I never got used to. It was not at all lost on me that we had plenty of food and comfortable beds, but I dreamed of sleeping on pine straw instead. I was glad the old gas heaters kept us warm, but I would have gladly traded that warmth for a night of shivering under the stars.

 Above all of the creature comforts combined, I wanted peace and calm at any cost.

 As I grew older, the desire for peace and calm only got stronger. By the time I got to high school, I was discovering several ways to accomplish this goal. I got a job at a grocery store, I bought a truck, and got a girlfriend—in that order. The grocery store was not a job to me; it was an escape. Buying gas for my truck was an escape. Hanging out with my girlfriend, or calling her on the phone, was an escape too.

Some of my methods were not very effective. School felt like another version of home life. I had no desire to sit in a chair and study for hours. That felt like punishment, so I started looking for ways to escape that as well. I looked for, and found, many ways to skip school. Everyone would suppose I was studying, and I would be up at Lake Acworth, sitting beside it, listening to the ripples as they crested near me. Once I experienced that, I could see no reason to buckle down the way everyone was suggesting.

Then my girlfriend had ideas about us being together and having our own home life. I tried it. But there were bills to pay and groceries to buy. I was supposed to make sure her car ran. I had to make sure my truck ran. And I needed to make more money because my wife wanted more than what we had. I did not like the arrangement from the very beginning.

 The rest has been summarized in many ways. But the truth is, I did not do the necessary things. I kept looking for, and finding, ways to escape anything that did not bring me joy.

 Of course, as I got older, I wanted a house, and I had to work for it. I finally buckled down. I wanted a truck. I worked hard for that too. I wanted guitars, and those cost money as well. So I’ve been doing my time for several years. My parents died, and I had to be even more responsible to help them transition.

 But now there is real talk of parole. Some people call it retirement. I’ve got about seven years left, and I am hoping I might be pardoned—or perhaps released on good behavior.

 I got a new wife ten years ago, and I learned that if you will be responsible for the sort of home life those creatures want, you can keep a wife indefinitely. This one is very adventurous, and she knew more about escaping than I did. In fact, she showed me how you can actually get to California.

 I’ve done more escaping since marrying this second wife than I ever did before.

 Mom died in November, and since then things have been dramatically different. Most of all, I’ve discovered that I am not needed as often as I once was. I find myself resuming the direction of a survivalist. I’ve been looking for lanterns, sleeping bags, rations, guns, and fire starters. To me, my four-wheel-drive Tacoma is exactly what I circled in that Sears Wish Book over half a century ago. It is not a dune buggy—no, it’s much better than a dune buggy. It has reverse.

 I am gearing up to escape.

What will I be escaping now? There is tremendous calm in my home. It is a safe, sweet, comfortable place. There is nothing there I want to escape.

 My job is literally at a park, and that is exactly what it feels like every day.

I am just now learning that I am not trying to escape at all. I am trying to hold forever in the palm of my hand, and to see eternity in a grain of sand.