BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 131
In that sense, I‟m lazy. If something needs doing, and it‟s not something I enjoy,
I hire it done. I figure I can make more money in the amount of time it takes someone
else to do it by doing what I do well. I once replaced the clutch in our washing machine.
It only took me all day Saturday and half of Sunday.
A repairman would‟ve finished it in an hour or two.
What was my weekend worth? More than the fifty bucks I‟d‟ve paid to get a pro
to fix that freakin‟ machine, I guarantee ya.
My Dad worked long hours selling furniture. Did it for twenty-three years and
retired to rot at the kitchen table, or in his chair, another fourteen years. It was what he
didn’t do in the earlier years I remember. One specific event stands out. It happened at a
very crucial age. I was six years old when I finally learned what was wrong with my life.
I didn‟t want to grow up poor, and stay poor. I had dreams, ambitions and goals.
Things I wanted to have happen for me. What made it difficult, should‟ve even been
impossible, is the fact I‟m an introvert. Honestly, I am.
Bill Cady‟s as shy as anyone you‟ve ever met, or ever will meet. If I had my
preference, I‟d always be in the shadows. If-dog-rabbit. If the dog hadn‟t stopped to shit,
we‟d still be skinning rabbits. The dog stopped, we went hungry. That‟s it, in a nutshell.
Since the things I needed … not wanted but needed … to be happy required an
extrovert, and I couldn‟t afford to hire one, I ad libbed. Faked it. So many times, I can
now fake it on command. Just as if it was an honest reaction. It isn‟t.
I‟m always afraid someone‟s going to get mad at me, which is why I try so hard to
avoid pissing people off. (Okay, all four of you ex-wives can just knock it off and stop
jeering at me. I didn‟t mean you, particularly. Jeez, get over it, already).
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