Tim Wildmon
AFA president
April 1998 – It was the first week of March, and Alison picked me up from work with two of the Terrific Three. (I’m really into positive-speak right now, so I’d appreciate it if you would just let me call people and things what I want to without saying I’m out of touch with reality.) Wriley (10) and Wesley (8) were in the back taking turns with the Gameboy. There are times I love that little machine. Other times I hate it. It’s a blessing when you need a break and it occupies their time. It’s a curse when you have to scream the child’s name four times as you’re getting out of the van for Sunday School. And on that last shout is when one of the children opens the door for the other folks in the parking lot to hear, isn’t it?
It was cool this particular March afternoon and somewhat windy. Alison had decided she wanted to stop and vacuum the van out. If cleanliness is next to godliness then the Lord is at this very time constructing Alison a beautiful mansion right next to St. Peter’s. And the angels are cleaning as they build. No unused 2x4s or paint buckets lying around unless they’re stacked and put away neatly.
“Why is it always cold and windy when you want us to open every door in the van?” I said.
“Oh, it won’t take but a couple of minutes. You’ll survive,” she responded.
That’s what she says about everything I complain about.
So we pulled up, Alison opened the van doors, pulled the mats out and began popping quarters in. I moaned and grunted as I looked out the side window. There was a fellow who looked to be in his mid-50s walking around the car wash picking up paper and cans. Nice looking guy. Clean cut, as my momma used to say. Hey, that guy looks familiar, I said to myself. He glanced over my way and I smiled and waved. Hmm, where do I know that face from? I looked away, thought for a moment and looked back at him. He had on a blue jacket and was wearing a golfer’s cap. Hey, that looks a lot like Coach Barron, my basketball coach in high school. He looked back at me, and it was one of those moments when you see someone, they see you, and you both know you’ve known each other from somewhere, sometime.
“Hey, are you Coach Barron?” I yelled, getting out of the seat. He couldn’t hear me clearly because my beloved had that machine wide open and was bouncing all over the van. She was in a state of bliss. Sick, isn’t it?
“Excuse me,” he responded as he came over closer.
“You’re Coach Barron, aren’t you.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You probably don’t remember me but I’m Tim Wildmon. I was one of your players on the B-team at Tupelo High.”
“Oh, yes, when exactly was that?”
“Well, let’s see. It would have been 1978-79, it’s been 20 years ago,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was saying “high school” and “20 years ago” in back-to-back sentences. Had it been that long ago already?
The years had been good to Theodus Barron. He had slimmed down, looked healthy and now had a few gray hairs peeking out from under his cap. We talked about our team, I introduced him to Wriley and Wesley, and reminded him that he taught with my mom for several years.
“Oh yes, Mrs. Wildmon. Friendly lady. Taught...”
“Home economics.”
“Right, home ec. How is she doing these days?”
The vacuum stopped long enough for Alison to come over.
I told him one of the reasons mom stopped teaching was that the kids had gradually become more and more of a control problem in class. He told me that –while he loved teaching and coaching – that was his experience as well.
“It’s a different world out there today,” he said. “It used to be that when the kids misbehaved and got in trouble with the teachers or coaches they also got disciplined by the parents. Now the parents get a lawyer.”
I nodded my head in agreement as we both had a chuckle. He was kidding, but his humor wasn’t far from reality. I hear they have metal detectors at Tupelo High School today. That seems to be the trend across the country. How sad. I read recently that over 50% of all violent crime committed against teenagers is done on campus or right around campus. It’s more dangerous on a typical high school campus today than it is downtown late at night. Why? Simply, we have a moral meltdown in our beloved America. Families are falling apart and we parents are failing to instill what was once called “The fear of God” in our children. We fail to teach our kids right from wrong and then are surprised when they steal, lie, cheat and act violently.
We wound down our reminiscing as I began to shiver, and Alison’s last quarters were thankfully used up.
“Well, you’ve got to go now and I’ve got to finish checking the place out here. I do this part time to help a friend out. He owns this car wash. I tell you what. I’m feeling generous today. Pull your van up and I’ll give you a free wash.”
“Really?”
“Sure, pull on up.”
I pulled the car forward and coach began washing my van. It took him about 10 minutes.
“He’s such a nice man,”Alison remarked, a bit embarrassed someone else was washing something that belonged to her.
As he finished, he tapped on the window. I rolled it down.
“Tell your momma I said hello.”
As we drove out, Wriley parroted her mother. “He’s a real nice man, Daddy.”
And Wesley – I could tell he was thinking. I was fully expecting this question.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Wes?”
"What's a B-team?" 
