Curt

Three packs a day got me that cooler and a half a lung short of a full chest. It was 1977 or 78 and I was smoking Marlboros and saving coupons like it was a second job. What I really wanted was the leather jacket with the logo on the back. I’d even grown the mustache I thought went along with it. But after three months I counted up my coupons and finally did the math. There was no way I had the patience or the paychecks to save up for the jacket. I ordered the cooler instead.###
That summer the cooler made me more friends than the jacket ever would have. We went to every rock concert at the “Bowl” that year and drank margaritas, slammers, kamikazes, and all manner of mixed drinks we could think of. In those days, (BC-Before Concessions) they let you bring in any kind of drink to the lawn seating as long as it was in plastic. When we didn’t have the cash for a ticket, we’d hang out in the parking lot close enough to hear the tunes and tailgate before, during, and after the show. It was an epic summer.###
Then I got married and the kids came along. The cooler gained a second life when we started camping. Except this time its cargo was Kool-Aid and lemonade instead of “adult juice”. We looked forward to passing that jug around and tasting the ice cold beverage after a long hot hike on the trails. Probably more than we did at the “Bowl”.###
I lost track of that cooler and a lot of things the year I was diagnosed with lung cancer. Between the operations and the chemo, 12 or 13 months slipped away from my life without much to remember, at least not events I want to remember.
Then last week I remembered why I stopped smoking. I found the cooler wrapped in an old rain poncho in the corner of the eaves in the garage attic. Inside were two stale cartons of Marlboros and a handwritten note. It said “No more Daddy. We love you”. Thank God I didn’t have the patience or the paycheck.