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Confessions of a Scapegoat pt.2 before/after Confessions Of A Scapegoat
pt:2 The Caber Toss
Caber Toss (kay-ber-tohs') The Caber is a tree that has been cut and trimmed down so one end is slightly wider than the other. It can vary length from 16 to 22 feet and between 100 and 180 pounds. The smaller end is rounded off so it will be easy to cup in the thrower's hands. The caber is stood up for the thrower with the large end up. The thrower hoists the caber up and cups the small end in his hands. He then takes a short run with the caber and then stops and pulls the caber so that the large end hits the ground and the small end flips over and faces away from the thrower. The caber is scored for accuracy as though the thrower is facing the 12:00 position on a clock face. A judge behind the thrower calls how close to the 12:00 position the small end of the caber lands, 12:00 being a perfect toss. If the caber is not turned, a side judge calls the degrees of the angle the caber makes with the ground. Sometimes a Challenge Caber is also used which is larger than the Games Caber. I must have gotten 20 phone calls before I got up. Four or five of them were actually for me. I only answered one, a confusing call from Roomie, who'd been out all night, consisting of nothing. When I finally got up after a lot of REM sleep, the house was empty, my roomates had gone camping, and my family already had brunch. I got another phone call from my brother telling me that if I wanted to go to the Highland Games, I was "invited". Great. Thanks for inviting me to hang out with my parents. Big of you. But it was a good deal. He'd been pressing to go to Vail, and I sure as hell didn't want to go. I don't like Vail. Whenever I find myself there, it is always with the feeling of, 'Fuck, I'm in Vail. How long will it take me to get home?' So the Highland Games in Highlands Ranch was an acceptable alternative. We got there with an hour to spare, supposedly. And they still wanted full admission. It wasn't the dollar amount, really. The principle of paying full price for less than an hours worth of worth was enough to sour us all on the thought. "But, at three thirty, you can get in for free." So we killed twenty minutes. Dad inadvertantly walked in and out of the games and no one said anything to him. Dad's like that. People always want to help him, and they rarely fuck with him about anything. Life is just that way for him. So we waited and dicked around. I led the walk in. They looked at each other sheepishly, like someone was going to stop them. Rule #1 when doing something you're not sure you should be: look like you know what your doing, like you belong there, and walk with determination. No one said anything. They had a lot of scottish games competitions. There was a lot of guys in kilts. There were celtic crafts booths. And booths that represented a lot of the major scottish clans. We found one, oddly enough, with our name. The man in the booth was kind enough to show us our sept's kilt's pattern of plaid. "They're definitly a low-land clan." Later on, my dad would bristle at this assertion. I didn't give a fuck. I didn't know there was any scottish ancestry. And I watched the caber toss. The caber toss is when kilt wearer's pick up a pole, much like a telephone pole, only smaller, with one slighltly smaller end and heaves it after usually a short run to gain momentum. If the pole goes end over end, it is a successful toss. Talk about mindless. Dad wandered off several times. He bought mom some celtic gold earrings. They looked nice. We drank some beer and sat at a picinic table. A guy walked by, dressed entirely jet black, black baggy shirt, black baggy pants tucked into black boots, black gloves, black sunglasses, topped with a black beret with a mean looking knife, and a six foot sword strapped to his back. I was trading obscene jokes with my father.
Dad: You and your brother are a world apart. You're crossing the Grand Canyon walking a tightrope wire, he's in Kosovo getting a blowjob from a toothless 85 year old serbian woman. What thought do you both have in common?
me: I don' know.
Dad: Don't look down.
Mom: (looking at the guy in black): "Who's that?"
me: "A guy who needs some friends."
And then the guy promptly stalks to the restroom, and gets his sword tangled in the door chain. Talk about blowing any and all cool points, the dude quickly was in coolness receivership.
Eventually everyone went off to do different things, and I was left with mom, who quickly put the squeeze on me to return home.
mom:"So when are you coming home?"
me:"I don't know. I miss it."
mom:"We miss having you around."
me:"And I miss you guys, and the lakes and stuff, but its not so much as that, but the stupid things, like driving past grandma's house on the way home from work. Or dumb errands to other family members, and just helping them out."
mom:"Yeah, and your grandma isn't the same anymore. She doesn't bark at anyone. No nasty little comments. she gets confused easily."
I sense the guilt before it arrives.
mom:"I think its her blood pressure. They gave her pills to take when her pulse drops below fifty. And she takes her blood bressure everyday. I don't know how much longer she'll be well. Its her heart."
me:"uh-huh."
mom:" And, you know, you could take advantage of all the things we have. Like the cabin. The boat..."
Like I needed to be reminded of the chalet on the lake, the boat, or all the other advantages I'd been perhaps unfairly born with. Maybe this too, was a part of the reason why I went away. Not guilt, or anything wasteful like that, but to remove the distractions that seem to prop up disaffective and neurotic parts of my personality. Its easy to get away from what's wrong when you can easily distract yourself. I've been doing it since I was fourteen. Its not easy to get to know yourself when you have all these buffers from the core.
me:"Yeah, I know."
mom:"And you could live with us and go back to school. Get your masters or whatever."
me:"Mom, there are no law schools within an hour and a half of where you live."
mom:"I know, but you know I will help you as much as I can."
This is a new tack. Outright bribery.
me:"Well, If I get this raise, I could save 10,000 a year for the next three years, and have a good start on a paying for a legal education. I'll apply to schools here and back home."
Mom frowns. Not what she was thinking.
Just then everyone made it back to the table. The festival was drawing to a close.
The disparate segments of the marching band had come together on the parade ground.
They played well.
The rising strains of "Amazing Grace." floated across the sky.
I love "Amazing Grace" when played on multiple bagpipes. It resonates with me for some reason.
I left my family to go listen.
They followed, and gathered around me, my Dad, leaning on my shoulder for support. How long ago was it that I was a child, a baby that he held in his arms, crying, wailing away, with nothing to soothe me, a colicy baby?
As we all grow old and die, we bury our parents. It is the progression of life, and sometimes, I hate it.
The band wrapped up, and we made out way out, stopping by the geneology tent.
Got a history of both parts of the family. On the one side, I knew I was descended from landed nobility.
(...and I read the family history,translated from the cover of a bible, I beleive, that said, I think a guy named Andrew or Johann had a religious vision. This compelled him to divy up some of the family assests for his sister's dowry, and sell the rest, move to America, buy thousands and thousands of acres of land, found a church, and start a town by giving parcels of land away to church members. Ahggg. Family still has a bunch of land, but if we had the Grand Total, I wouldn't have to work a day in my life. Khe-sara-sara. The town and the church still stand. I found his grave. Johann, I believe was his name.)
The history they supplied was sketchy at best. My guess is that they were much the same as they are now.
And then the surname that I have was researched, and I never realized the prominince, given the common surname I have.
Recorded in the Domesday Book. Awarded lands (in addition to prior holdings) by William the Conqueror at the Battle of Hastings.
Crazy. Never would have guessed.
Bunch of other stuff, which is cool, but I tend to focus on What Is Going On Now.
we rode out to Morrison, the closest white-trash hillbilly mountain town to get something to eat. Ate at the Morrison Inn.
They drank some goddam huge margaritas.
Before the food came, I snuck off and bought a pack of smokes. The jones was killing me.
Came back, and no one said a word. The food was just arriving. Go me. Timing is all.
Whacked that down, and then had one of the best desserts I've had in a while.
Sopapilla sundae.
Vanilla Ice cream. Six fried soppapilla. (little hollow deep fried sweet rolls). Chocolate-fudge topping. Strawberry topping. Powdered sugar. Honey.
OHHHH!
I ate ALL of that motherfucker.
We went outside, and I snuck off for a well-deserved smoke. Found a hippie-mobile, covered in bumperstickers, with weird knick-knacks and trophies adhered throught the inside of the vehicle.
Mom went into this tourist-y gift shops and got me and my brother hacky-sacks.
Not sure, exactly, how to feel about that.
Mine looks like a globe.
Went home and played cards.
The Old Man is still tricky.
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