Their mannerisms and conduct are similar enough to identify them as the same gene pool around these parts and sometimes when the moon is right they embark on joint ventures that identify them as blood kin, but that does not mean that they don’t sometimes indulge into ventures that star them as rivals in the trials and travails on the earthen third rock from for the sun.

Laramie, you see was disenchanted in the E-Baying of a Jeep Wagoneer and a new home for the transport.  Papa Lannes was more than willing to contribute his expertise to the negotiations and at no cost.  Despite the reasonable terms Laramie manifested his gratitude by completely ignoring the sage counsel in the matter.  Succinctly, Laramie made a deal for the transfer of title to a willing buyer from over East Texas way.  And, in non-verbal ways, he did his dead level best to get Papa Callison off his neck.

Down at the family corral he managed to drag his lariat rope through an out cropping of freshly installed cow mud, and somehow managed to transfer a liberal amount upon the raiment of Papa Callison’s freshly starched and ironed attire.  And so, Lannes, who was armed with a dogie starter, applied an electrical shot to Laramie’s hind end.  Lamentations of disappointment were audible for a country mile and the two parted company in separate huffs.

Later on the transfer of title and vehicle was made without a fatality.

Steffie loaded and embarked to their rural digs out Dowing way as the two car peddlers discussed their little fracas and prepared to part company, and waved a goodbye to Laramie’s daughter McKenna and son Lander.  It was might nigh a Norman Rockwell plate of color Americana.  But, not as nostalgic as a cover of Saturday Evening Post art.

“Can I be of further assistance son?” Lannes queried.

“Nope,” Laramie replied, “as a matter of fact, I’ve enjoyed about all of this father-son closeness I can manage for a few days, Pop.  You’re off the case!”

Laramie waved adieu as Lannes drove away to lend his efforts to the betterment of the civilized world.

As his vehicle dust settled Laramie suddenly realized that he was an abandoned soul—ten miles from home—which is a goodly distance from Downing.  A goodly march of sore-footing.

“I’d druther walk home as listen to post mortem things and details on my car swap,” he muttered to himself.  “I’ve had a full dose of father-son discourse,” he stated as he struck out for hearth and home.

As far as I know, the family relationship was not diminished by the small blip on the radar, and time will most likely erase the riptide of the Callison Clan’s family ties.

But, stay tuned.

Let me hear from you.

My phone number is 254-893-5063.

My postal address is 333 W. Ayers, De Leon TX 76444.

You can e-mail me at chupp@charleschupp.com.

By Charles Chupp, Copyright ©2008 Charles Chupp