"Intimidation" had a lasting impact on my life, as did many of my friends' fathers. But my experiences with Intimidation were a little different. It began with fear around sixth grade, created by his broad shoulders, slow neck turn, and bellowing voice. Over time I came to understand that, while Intimidation was true to his appearance, he was much more than that.  Among many other things, he was a teacher to his kids and their friends. I learned to listen carefully, because he spoke intentionally.  I learned to think before I spoke, because, like a good prosecutor, he would challenge your words if not carefully crafted. I learned loyalty and trust, because he and his family gave it to me. And I learned that, if you were his friend, you felt comfort knowing his broad shoulders always had your back. I know he was a good teacher, because I can use all these traits to describe his children.

One story explains the contrast between his outside and inside, or at least my perception of it.  It was an early morning dove hunt to somewhere east of Waco, when Trey, Bradley and I loaded up with Mr. Butler in that old silver and black suburban.  I in the seat directly behind Mr. Butler, Trey in the passenger seat, and Bradley next to me in the back. Mr. Butler had cooked some ribs for us the night before that were not sitting well with me. I mean really not sitting well.  I kept fighting back the need to vomit, drooling and sweating with discomfort, not letting on to anyone how I felt. What would Mr. Butler think if I had to detour or cancel his hunt? How could I tell him the ribs made me sick? I had to keep it down. I could not reveal my weakness to Intimidation. The cycle of fear and discomfort rolled with each half mile until the opportunity to debate myself ended somewhere on Hwy 79. 

I didn't recognize that holding my fingers over my mouth would increase the pressure. It was like I held my thumb over the end of a hose and pointed the vomit machine directly at him.  Vomit spewed, at high velocity, all over Mr. Butler's head and neck in front of me.  You cannot imagine the fear and embarrasment.

While Trey and Bradley were scrambling in surprise, and I was frozen in disbelief, Mr. Butler never turned around.  He calmly pulled the car over.  I launched out of the car and continued convulsing. Eventually I stopped. And eventually Mr. Butler exited the car and slowly walked to the rear gate.  He had not yet spoken a word. The suspense was worse than the vomit.  I expected some shotgun shells to be thrown around in frustration, or at least an angry stare.  Nope.  He gathered some paper towels and calmly helped me clean up.  He got me back in the car and drove us to a nearby grocery store.  He was almost motherly and comforting, but he still had not spoken a word.  He and I went into the store to clean ourselves up.  Still not a word.  We cleaned the car in the parking lot.  Still not a word.  With the humans and car clean, albiet still smelly, we returned to the road. The sun was starting to rise. We were going to be late. What was going to happen? How pissed was he? This will be the last time I am invited on a hunt. Just say something! Intimindation finally spoke: "Carl, next time just ask me to pull over." There would be a next time.

There were many next times, including my first dear, which I ignorantly gut shot and we tracked until Mr. Butler finally had to put it out of its misery with a knife under a cedar tree.  There was also the time Trey and I swore we had seen a UFO outside of Brady, Texas.  We told the story for 30 minutes in great detail. Mr. Butler was intrigued and surprisingly not doubtful. He patiently waited for us to finish the story, and then that typical grin came across his face and he started to laugh.  He threw a newspaper in front of us, with the headline "Space Shuttle Reenters Earth's Atmosphere Over Central Texas, Seen For Miles." 

Good people. Good lessons. Good memories.  Now we get to keep it going.