​I taught all my kids the Ballad of the Green Beret when they were young. Then just before I retired from the Army (2011) we were living in Thailand and we all took a dive trip to the Similan Islands in the Andaman Sea.

It was a magical day already because I had proposed to Sharon that morning and it was neat to see all my kids and her daughter expertly preparing their dive gear on their own on the back of the dive boat with a bunch of other divers from all over the world.

​The Ballad of the Green Beret came on over the dive boat speakers. Although others on the boat were familiar with the song, only my kids knew all the words and could sing along as we jumped into one of the best dive sites in the world.

​I am the oldest of four children. I was born in August 1960. My Irish Twin, David, was born a year later. David and I were incredibly curious and adventuresome. We shared a bedroom. In the bedroom were twin beds which could be stacked into bunk beds (and later in time, they were). There was also a chest of drawers and a playpen, which had served as a playpen/crib for me and for David. When Valerie was born in 1963, the playpen became her crib.
Shortly after Val was born there was one of our rare Alabama snow storms and it left about ten inches of snow on the ground. It must have been a weekend because my parents had slept in and David and I left our bedroom and checking out the living room window and seeing snow on the ground, we went out the front door in our jammies to play in the snow. That was where Mom and Dad found us when they got up. Val, still an infant was asleep in the playpen.
Later that day, Dad reversed the lock on our bedroom door and each night we were locked in so we could not escape out into the dangerous world until Mom and Dad were ready to watch us.
Locked in the room each night, we would wake up and find new and great adventures. One adventure I had with David was to figure out how to get to the top of the dresser. We figured out we could use the drawers as steps. Our plan had a fatal flaw however, and I can’t remember now what the initial logic of it was. We climbed in the bottom drawer, pulled out the next drawer, climbed into it, and for some reason, closed the drawer below. There were four drawers. So, four times we climbed to the next drawer and shut the drawer below behind us. We were so thrilled when we got to the top. We giggled and talked about how great it was and how small Valerie looked over in her playpen. After a while we calmed down and decided it was time to get down. We tried and tried but from our position on top of the dresser we could not pull the drawer out. We were stuck.
We contemplated several ideas. We decided it was too far to jump to the closest bed, and it was too far to jump to the floor. We looked over at Valerie. She was still pretty little at about eight months old and trapped inside the playpen, she couldn’t help. We had no choice, we had to call for help. After screaming for Mommy for about 20 minutes, she finally came in and rescued us.
Not long after that we decided Valerie would be honored to join us in our adventures. I have no idea how we got them or why they were in our bedroom, but David and I had somehow found a pair of pruning shears. We decided, in our three and two-year-old brains, that we needed to create an escape for Valerie from the playpen and help her get out into freedom. It took both of us to work the pruning shears, but we cut a decent size hole in the net wall of the playpen. Val didn’t seem quite capable of understanding that she was now free, so we climbed through the hole to aid in her escape. When David got in the whole bottom fell through. About that time, Mom and Dad came through the door. They were not quite as excited as we were about Valerie’s freedom.
A few weeks later, our regular baby sitter came to stay with us and shortly after Darryl came home from the hospital. Another new baby for us! Dad had been unable to fix the playpen well enough to put infant Darryl in it at that time. So, the new baby went into an emptied drawer from the dresser. That was really cool to the rest of us. Our new baby slept in a drawer.

In 1966 my Dad was stationed in Bangkok Thailand by the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and we moved there in October of that year. I went into the first grade at International School Bangkok, Bankapi Campus. David was put into kindergarten around the corner from where we lived. This story takes place several years after we moved to Bangkok. By that time, we were living in an apartment complex called Sawan Court. Sawan Court consisted of three buildings at the time facing a swimming pool. There was parking under two of the buildings; the one where we lived, and the one opposite. Those two buildings had large three bedroom apartments. The third building, which faced out to the front fence, had three stories of studio apartments. About the third year we were living there, 1970, the owner decided to increase his wealth by filling in the swamp behind our building and putting up another five story set of apartments. Filling in the swamp required many, many trips by large dump trucks full of sand. They lined up down the street to take their turn at dumping their loads and creating a new property on which to build.
​As kids, we were nothing, if not innovating in finding new ways to have an adventure. At this time I was about 10, David would have been 9, Val was 7 and Darryl 6. I don't remember anymore whose idea it was, but we decided to jump onto the back of the dump trucks as they waited in line, hold on to upper back ledge as they dumped the sand into the swampy mess. Unlike in the US, there were no great OSHA laws in Thailand preventing people from doing stupid things, and even if there were, no low level Thai worker would ever stop a stupid American kid from doing... well, stupid stuff.
​There were probably seven or eight kids in on the adventure, to include the four of us Coffeys. I think the driver had decided to teach us a lesson, because it took longer than usual for the bed of the truck to reach full extension height and even though I was a skinny little runt, I was beginning to think I would not be able to hold on until the bed was all the way down again and was contemplating how much it would hurt to fall back into the sand and go out the bottom. I was just about to let go when I heard a scream. I looked over my shoulder to see my sister Val disappearing with the sand out the bottom of the tailgate. I decided I could hold on a little longer.
​We had to wait until the bed was all of the way down before we could climb down from the truck as it lumbered away before we could rush back to try and find Valerie in the pile of sand. We were crying and digging and wondering how big a spanking we would get if Val were dead. As anyone can imagine, we were no strangers to large group spankings.
​Then one of us found her head, and we dug frantically and faster. When we got her head cleared she began spitting out sand and crying. As we realized she was going to be fine and we were off the hook, we pulled her out, and then ran to catch another truck.

​By Carol Coffey, about sister Valerie

1980. 
In August 1980, several branches of the McRoberts Family converged on Decatur Alabama for about a week long reunion. The Reunion was based at the home of Ray and Gerry McRoberts Coffey, and their kids Carol (19), David (18), Valerie (16), Darryl (15) and Chuck (7). From Saratoga NY were my Mom's  youngest brother Richie and Diane McRoberts and their kids Carol (16) and Mark (14). Every  year our Saratoga cousins rented out their home to horse racers and took the month off for a vacation. We saw them a few years in a row, including this one. From Huntington CA were my Mom's younger brother Wayne McRoberts and his kids Kevin (14) and Jaime (10), and my Mom's oldest brother Allan McRoberts and a friend of his from Vietnam who drove him.

Much of the party was scheduled around our pool in the backyard. Lots of cookouts, lots of ribs, lots of alcohol. We had large giant oaks in our backyard that were probably at least 150 years old. We had a giant rope hanging off the branch of one of the trees near the pool and we swung from the rope into the pool. The pool was next to the house on the other side with just the width of a sidewalk between the pool and the brick wall of the house.

I was a student at Calhoun at the time towards the end of the summer quarter, so I would come home from class in mid afternoon to join the party. My brother David was a cotton scout in the summer, so he was gone during the day too. On this particular day, which was a Thursday, a friend of mine named Mark Sellers drove me home. We got there around 4pm and I introduced Mark to my inebriated Uncles and we joined the pool party. My Uncle Wayne was doing elaborate jumps from the swing into the pool. Then he decided he want to really get acrobatic. He bet his brother Allan and the friend he could swing from the rope way up in the air and be able to do a full flip into the air before landing in the pool. None of us thought this was a good idea, but he could not be dissuaded. He had his brother Allan stand on the side of the pool against the brick wall to push him into the water in case he flew to far, so as to not hit the brick wall. (Does all of this sound carefully thought out? Ha!) I was standing next to my friend Mark, kind of shaking my head. My Dad, my Mom, Richie and Diane were sitting in lawn chairs away from the activity. My sister was sitting on the pool steps. Mark and Kevin were to stand on the side of the pool with the rope "just in case". The "just in case" wasn't really specified. 

My Uncle Wayne was not a small man. He probably was about 5'10 and over 200 lbs. He got on a ladder to get some momentum and jumped on the rope. As it came close to swinging over the pool he began his flip... unfortunately he began it over the sidewalk, not the pool. As his feet went up in the air, his head crashed down on the side of the pool and he slipped into the water. Everyone stood there in shock as he floated in the pool. When I realized no one else was doing anything, my lifeguard instincts kicked in and I jumped in to save him. He was unconscious, and heavy, but I decided not to worry about getting a board under him and worry about possible paralysis later. I pulled his head up so he wasn't breathing in water, and got him to the edge of the pool where my friend Mark and finally Uncle Allan and my Dad could help pull him out. 

Meanwhile, my Mom and my sister went a bit hysteric. My Mom was crying and moaning and my sister ran through house yelling he was dead, to meet my brother David coming into the house from work to be told Uncle Wayne was dead in the backyard. My Dad called an ambulance and I was doing mouth to mouth and trying to determine how bad off he was. The ambulance got there in about ten minutes. By that time Uncle Wayne was conscious and complaining about his headache, but I wouldn't let him move around or get up. 

My Mom and Dad went to the hospital, and the rest of us waited at home to find out the prognosis. My friend Mark told me my family was crazy and went home. 

Finally, the three got home. He had a concussion, and a very bad headache, and we were supposed to keep an eye on him for a few days.

The next day, Friday, after I got home from classes, the family had decided during the day while I was gone to go rafting at the Ocoee in Tennessee. They were waiting for David and I to get home to get the adventure under way. Uncle Wayne still had a bad headache, but he wanted to go to take his mind off of it. So by the time David got home from work and we got several trucks and cars loaded up to go camping in Tennessee and rafting the next day, it was getting dark. Dark in Alabama in the summer is around 8pm. The Ocoee is three hours away on a well organized trip. On a disorganized convoy... well it took us about three hours to get to Chattanooga. Everyone was hungry and we found the only still open restaurant, a Shoney's that was not happy to see our crowd of people walk in five minutes before closing. 

After dinner we check maps and the convoy headed for the Smokey Mountains State Park. We got out in the middle of no where, very obviously going up a mountain on a road that circled round and round and up and up the mountain. Every ten minutes or so we would see a sign that said "Campsite, 5 miles". What we didn't realize is they meant 5 miles as the crow flies, not by road. After about an hour of driving through fog and cranky people, my Dad in the lead in our trusty Ford Station Wagon, pulled over on an overlook where we decided to give up the ghost and sleep for what was left of the night. David led all of the kids (Carol Mc, Mark Mc, Kevin, Jaime, Val and Darryl) to go sleep at the actual overlook about 100 yards away from the car. My Mom and Dad got in the back of the Station Wagon, I was on the hood of the Station Wagon, Chuckie was in the front seat. Uncle Allan was in the front of the truck with his friend, and my Uncle Wayne was in the back of the truck with a fan he took everywhere between him and an amorous woman my Mom had set him up with for the weekend. I was a little car sick and just wanted everything to stop moving. It was hot and muggy. Uncle Wayne kept yelling out every few minutes "Good night Ray Bob, Good night Gerry Bob..." which got old after a few minutes, but he had a headache and couldn't sleep. 

Just as I was about to fall asleep, Chuckie "heard something" and leaned on the horn of the station wagon which caused me to leap about 30 feet in the air. I made him move to the other side of the front seat and slowly was able to get to a point where I was about to fall asleep again listening to the kids off in the distance giggling and talking. All of the sudden all of the kids are running back through the woods to get to us. One of them swore he saw a bear. So all of them were squeezing into remaining space in the vehicles trying to find a safe place to sleep. By the time the sun came up we were all tired and miserable and just wanted to find the Ocoee and do the raft trip.

So, it turned out we were about a half mile from the campsite in daylight. We went there, used the much needed bathroom, cooked a camp breakfast and got explicit directions to a Raft Company. Sadly, Jaime was too short to do the trip, so my Dad volunteered (I think he was glad to get out of it) to stay with Jaime, who didn't stop lobbying for the right of short people to raft.

Of course, because there were so many of us, and there were only five to a raft along including a guide, we had several loads. I was in a raft with Uncle Richie, Diane, and Carol Mc. Carol Mc and I were on the front of our raft. As we geared up, got in the rafts and moved away from the bank, the gregarious (obviously he slept the night before) guide asked my name so he could yell for me to paddle. I said "Carol". Then he asked my cousin her name, so he could do the same for her. "Carol" she said. He laughed. "OK, what is your middle name?" he asked me. "Lynn" I said. He looked at my cousin, "Lynn" she said. I think that had never happened to him before. So from then on, I was "left" and cousin Carol was "right". 

Anyone who has ever been mountain rafting knows how cold that water is, even in summer. We were given instructions on what to do when you fall out. Feet downstream to protect your head, and get back into the raft as soon as you can. Anyone who has rafted the Ocoee knows how great it is.  There are constant rapids. On the second set, as we approach, our guide tells us this is the most dangerous. As the raft buckled up, I popped right out into that VERY cold water. I was laughing so hard, I couldn't get back to the raft, much less get back into it. I had to float downstream out of the rapids before my Aunt, Uncle and Carol could pull me back in... still laughing.

That was about the end of the rafting adventure. When we got back to where our vehicles were parked. We were all so tired, the drive home was quiet and uneventful. 

The next day we decided to go skiing. My Uncle Richie had towed down his ski boat. Kevin and Mark were given the keys to back the truck up to the boat and attach it. Very young Mark somehow hit the gas when he should have braked and backed the tow into Kevin's thigh. Yes, another trip to the Emergency Room. We went three times that week, and for the life of me, I cannot remember what the third trip was. Maybe one of you cousins remember?

​Carol Coffey