Back in 1980 or so, me and the guys were out on the trails doing tricks on our 3-wheelers and dirt bikes. Well, a couple of weeks before that, my dad bought me a Dallas watch, nothing special, but I had to have one.
Anyways, one of my friends threw a rock at a bird, missed and hit my watch and broke the face. I cried like a little girl(was 9 at the time) and he started crying too, not sure why. We thought we were tough little guys back then. He knew what the watch meant to me and paid me $5 a week for a new one. He actually gave me his allowance for about 3 months and I never got a new watch
What is funny is that Kennith(the guy who broke the watch) was the neighborhood bully and this instance was the only time I ever saw compassion from him.
To this day, every time I run into him, the watch is the first thing mentioned
I realized then that I was hooked on my Cowboys and never looked back. I still have a set of Cowboy cheerleader playing cards around somewhere from the late '70's.