Helter Shelter  WWJD (What would Jabo do?)  I don't get to visit
with my daddy, Jabo Jowers, as much as I'd like to. When we do
get together, it's always back at the old house in South
Carolina. We visit in early spring, when it's cool, and we can
enjoy sitting under the oak tree by Jabo's metal shop. Jabo
hasn't changed much in the last 30 years. He's got the same no-
maintenance inch-long crewcut. He wears the same green JC Penney
coveralls, unzipped about halfway to his navel, with a white
T-shirt underneath. Thank heaven, he did give up smoking. Now I
can sit and talk to him without dreading his fingers digging in
his breast pocket.  In recent years, Jabo and I have mostly
talked about what's going on in my life-my amazing good luck in
finding wife Brenda, business partner Rick, and daughter Jess'
softball career. From what I can tell, Jabo's fairly proud of
how my life has turned out.  All of our visits end the same way.
I look Jabo in his sweet old ice-blue eyes, and I say, "Dammit,
there's just one prob