Being an underage drinker and going to a bar was exciting. The complete thing of being somewhere I should not became an enigma. To take on security staff and win boosted my failing ego. I played the part well. Putting on old clothes and making sure not to shave helped my success.
When I became an adult, the fascination left. It no longer had the same appeal. Looking around at all the other drunken people, I would begin to wonder about life. Was this really, where I wanted to be? Talking with my drinking mates a lot of them felt the same way.
Strangely, no one could show me the way out nor answer any of my questions sensibly. Surely, there must be more to life then working and drinking alcohol. For along time it seemed this was so. Then my first wife had enough of me, she walked out.
I began to remember my childhood and think about what I had learned in Sunday School. One thing that stood out was when my Sunday School teacher died. When they carried his casket out of the church, his widow was smiling.
Mr. Masters was a fair man and looked after us boys well. He loved the Lord and I guess that is why his widow was smiling. She knew where his spirit was.