The sun was high in the sky as we pulled onto the gravel parking lot. I looked for a parking spot and finally found one. The lot was surprisingly full for such a small town in the middle of nowhere. The rumor goes that Taft stands for Tweakers And Fat Tourists. From what I can see my son and I are the only exceptions to the rule. Today is my son’s 16th birthday. I’m beginning to wonder if I chose the right gift to give him. My maternal instincts are kicking in. But, I promised my son two things for his big day – skydiving and I stop smoking. I suck up my fears and usher my son towards the lobby area. I want a cigarette, and wish I hadn’t stopped smoking this morning. We sign in, fill out paper work which basically states that if we die it’s our own fault, and take a seat. I doubt my decision again.
If there is a life after this one? I hope I get to do it with you again.
I wrote this little rhyme on August 23, 1990, the day the US attorney knocked on my door regarding the Traci Lords scandal. I later spent four months and seventeen days in federal prison.