After our nearly-four-mile mud run over at Burden Dayz early Saturday afternoon, Sam and I talked about driving over to the Cowley Cinema to watch a movie Saturday evening. But, after sitting down for a while and enjoying a drink out on the back deck, we decided we’d rather take it easy.

After resting for a couple of hours, we did drive the two miles over to Cowley College. I showed Sam my new office with the brand new beautifully framed picture of the Old Arnett Tobacco Barn he’d given me and the also nicely framed certificate of my Kentucky Colonel commission, for which he’d nominated me.

After that, I drove around the campus, pointing out some of the buildings including the stately old limestone structure that was originally a high school. It now houses our Criminal Justice and
Cosmetology programs, unless I’ve been misinformed or have mis-remembered. Cowley has a nice campus, lots of brick and stone, and it is exceptionally well-tended. Our maintenance people seem to take as much pride in our exterior spaces as the custodial staff take in the interior ones.

As we finished the college tour, passing by the Wellness Center and Bookstore, we headed back toward Summit Street and turned south. Just before we got to Casey’s, Sam exclaimed, “Karaoke!” We turned back around and passed back by the tiny bar and grill on the east side of the street. I was hesitant and drove on by. Then I realized I might not get another chance to do Karaoke with Sam before he deploys to the Middle East again and maybe not after he gets back.

So, I turned around and parked in front. We got out and walked in. Two pool tables, five booths and one big round table housed about twenty patrons or so. Sam and I picked out a couple of songs each and turned in our lists to the DJ, who also took turns singing. There were about eight of us taking turns and I chose Don Williams’ “Tulsa Time” for my opener.

It went over pretty well. I’ve got an average voice and I can hit most of the right notes. There was a spattering of polite applause as I finished. Then Sam got up to do an old country classic.

He was about five measures into George Jones’s classic “She Thinks I Still Care” when I saw folks that had been sitting with their backs turned to the singers turn around to look at him. I grinned as broadly as if I’d just been told Ed McMahon was pulling up to my house in a big white van. Sam has a really good voice but it’s his blend of tone and talent that turns heads, literally. He put his own spin on a couple of lines and turned on the charm. I knew he was good but I’d never seen him work a room like that. Even the DJ was impressed: “That’s a mighty fine version of that song, folks. Give Sam a hand!”

I did and I didn’t even try to not be proud. I’d been outdone by my own son and I couldn’t have been more tickled.

That’s how love is. It’s never jealous, never resentful. It just rejoices… over and over.

H. Arnett
9/18/15