Looking back at my rants main page, I see it has been almost three months since I last ranted. And with good reason. I've been a busy man in that time. On New Years Eve, I was alone, driving on I-40 from Richburg, South Carolina to West Memphis, Arkansas where I was living at the time. For a good part of the year, I was worried that I would be alone as the 1900s slipped into Year 2000. As the day approached, I became at peace with the prospect of being alone. I needed time to reflect on my past year, on my life, and to look ahead.

Five days later, I was in a hospital in Memphis. In fact, I was in the delivery room with my ex-wife as she gave birth to our son, Michael Anthony Hinson. All the questions, the nagging doubts, all the confusion slipped away in the moment that the nurse handed him to me. For the first time in my life, I knew I had a purpose.

Of course, just a few days before, I had been in Chester, South Carolina renting an apartment. I really wanted to move back to the area I just moved away from a mere three months earlier. And I was determined to do this even if Sherry and our son stayed in Arkansas.

Let me back up a little bit.

If you know me or have visited my site before, you may know a little about the past year for me. My life has changed drastically in the last twelve months in a number of ways. In chronological order:

My ex-wife gave me the gift of a car and a new life with her signature on a bank withdrawal statement. I went from having no money to speak of to having more money than I seen before. I paid for a car with cash, then went about getting a few of the things I wanted most, a new computer, two cameras, new clothes, etc. etc.

Somewhere in all of this, my relationship with my family deteriorated. Through a series of missed phone calls and a rare March snowfall, I missed being there for my sister while she underwent surgery. At the time, we still did not know how serious her condition was. I later leaned my father had been diagnosed with cancer as well. But I was a bastard about it, still waiting for him to make the first conciliatory move in re-establishing what had once become a strong relationship between us.

I moved out of the town I had lived in all my life and had despised for most of that time. I only moved 25 miles away to Rock Hill, South Carolina. I had never really wanted to live in Rock Hill, but it happened to be where I found the first house to rent. I quickly began to view Rock Hill as a small town with big town traffic. I hated it.

Meanwhile, I had met some friends working in a photo lab in Chester. They were great and seemed to like my shots, even if every single one of them was of a train. I spent a lot of 1999 hoping that one of them would turn into more than a friend, but that didn't pan out.

One day, Sherry and I were riding around in Spartanburg, South Carolina when she remarked on how hungry she had been all day. In fact, I think I saw her eat more that day than I had any day before that. "I wonder why," she had said. I somehow knew right away that she was pregnant. And after two home pregnancy tests that night, we were all but convinced. We would become parents in early 2000, provided the world didn't end when the clock struck midnight on December 31, 1999.

It took me a long time to truly accept that I was going to be a father. Probably up until the moment the nurse handed my son to me just after he was born.

After my first extended trip, through the mountains of North Carolina and then across that state in pursuit of trains, I came home to find out that my sister had passed away. The way I found out hurt me and left me bitter. Sherry's soon to be second ex had found out from his mother who had read it in the Lancaster News. I didn't believe it and did an online search using the Charlotte Observer database. It was true. She had died before I had left. No one had tried to get in touch with me.

(I'm not here to air out my families dirty laundry. I am here to write about my past year. Some of it is good. A lot of it isn't. The fact remains that I could have been reached by a simple e-mail. That they did not yet have my new address or phone number was my fault. I should have given it to them. But there were other ways to reach me in the event of a tragedy such as this.)

A month later, I was on my first trip out of the time zone. It was the CafeNothing get together in Colorado Springs. The drive over was great. I saw more of the North Carolina mountains this time and driving across Tennessee was great. And then came Memphis. Passing over the Mississippi River was very cool. And then I saw my first BNSF train. I stuck around in the Memphis area for a few days getting lots and lots of railroad shots thinking to myself, "I could live here."

Driving north through Arkansas on I-55 sucked. Nothing to see except KFCs and Wal Marts. Much of the drive north through Missouri was the same until road signs for St. Louis became common. I got on I-70 without really going into St. Louis and sped on over to Kansas City, which, it is said, is the second busiest railroad town in America. I got there late, however, and made it all the way to Bob Dole's hometown, Russell, Kansas before stopping for the night.

The next day was very cool, seeing the flatlands of Kansas. Don't get me wrong. I would never want to live there. But something about Kansas is very cool. Maybe it's the fact that they interrupt their Retro 80s lunch for a break to talk about cattle prices and the such.

And then came Colorado. Everyone in America should see Colorado at least once in their life. It is simply amazing. The mountains are breath taking. The sky is ever changing but seemingly always blue with thick, billowy white clouds.

My friends from CafeNo were cool too. They were nothing like I expected, but more than I could have hoped for. Except for mouth, who stopped up the toilet in my hotel room with his Norway shit and didn't even bother to tell me about it, much less call management. My main problem with Colorado was ^hathor. Or actually that she was elsewhere in Colorado at the time and I did not get a chance to meet her. Not then anyway.

But something was happening. Here I was 1500 miles away from home and all of a sudden, home was the only place I wanted to be. I don't know. Maybe I was just scared to be so far away from home. Maybe it was the shit floating in my toilet. But I left Colorado early ad came back to South Carolina, taking another day off the road in Memphis for more railroad photography.

When I got home, I realized nothing had changed. Now was not the time for me to contact my family. They now knew how to get in touch with me if they wanted to. And there were no messages from them on my voice mail.

So it was time for another trip. This time, Sherry would come along. Back to Colorado. Through Memphis for a few days. More train photography. A few hours in Kansas City too, but not long enough. And once in Colorado Springs, I met ^hathor. She, Winsome and I went to a bad steak house with weird lettuce and weak margaritas. ^hathor was doing her best to increase traffic on Greyhound and I was lucky to catch her.

Then down to Canon City for a ride on the Royal Gorge Railway and a walk over the 1,000 foot high bridge there. That was a perfect day. It seemed every time I thought the scenery could get no more beautiful, God played a trick on me and showed me something even more amazing.

But soon it was time to come back. Back to a shitty house in Rock Hill. Back to a place I didn't feel I belonged.

Soon, the notion to move to Memphis struck again, so off Sherry and I went, 650 miles on I-40. West Memphis, to be exact. Which is odd as it's actually in Arkansas, probably ten miles from the heart of Memphis. We found a really nice place on Rainer Road, right in front of railroad tracks that once saw Missouri Pacific trains on it, now part of Union Pacific.

And in early October, we moved in.

And in late November, I wanted to come back. And come back we did. For a visit. I agreed to hold off the notion of moving back until Michael was born.

But I didn't exactly make it. I left West Memphis for a Richburg hotel the day after Christmas. I didn't take the time to think about why I was doing what I was doing. But in hindsight, I was scared. I had never really thought that I would become a father. In fact, I guess I really never expected it to happen. But here it was about to happen. What kind of father would I be? How bad would me being his father screw him up? And how long would it take him to climb into some tower somewhere with a long range rifle and begin taking people out as a result of me being his father?

Those were just some of the thoughts going through my mind as I drove back to West Memphis on 12/31/99 -- 01/01/2000. I had found a place to live in Chester and, if Sherry didn't want to move back -- which truth be known, she didn't -- I was prepared to leave her and Michael behind. I was convinced that both of them would be better off without me in their lives anyway. I hoped Sherry would find someone to be a strong role model for him and knew that would happen a lot faster if I was out of the picture.

Sherry's water dropped at a little after 7:30 on January 4. We got her to the hospital ASAP and less than four hours later, at 12:23 a.m. Wednesday January 5 to be exact, she gave birth to a beautiful 7 pound 14 ounce baby boy. I was there throughout the whole process and not once did I come close to passing out.

And then there he was crying his little head off. It was the most glorious sound I had ever heard. The nurse took him and weighed him and cleaned him off. She cut his cord and bundled him up tight, then handed him to me. I was holding my son for the first time. He was still crying, but not as much. It looked like he was trying to open his eyes and I realized that he couldn't keep them open. It was when they were closed that he would start crying again.

Finally, he was able to keep them open and he stopped crying. I know they say that babies can't see yet at that age, but I swear he looked up at me. And I knew then that I was his father, that I would do anything for him.

So Sherry decided to move to Chester with me. I think she knew by then that I would stay if she told me she was staying. But we came back to the area at the first of this month.

So far, not a lot has changed. I am still estranged from my family, though inroads are being made. I hope. Michael is doing well at almost 11 weeks old. And me? I'm still me, only with more love in my heart for the little guy than I thought possible. I want to share him with the world, with my family. I just wish my mother were here to see her first grandchild.

Joe

to my next rant (when posted)
My Rants & Raves
The Joseph C. Hinson Home Page
Pictures of Michael Anthony Hinson
Colorado: Pictures From the West