One Sunday morning George burst into the living room and said, “Dad! Mom! I have some great news for you! I am getting married to the most beautiful girl in town. She lives a block away and her name is Susan. After dinner, George’s dad took him aside, “Son, I have to talk with you. Look at your mother, George. She and I have been married 30 years, she’s a wonderful wife and mother, but, she has never offered much excitement in the bedroom, so I used to fool around with women a lot.” Continue reading
memoir
Chilling Night Intruder: Hysterical Misunderstanding
Mother awoke to the chilling realization that someone was trying to break in the house. “Bill! Bill! Wake up Bill! Someone’s trying to get in!!” Daddy didn’t normally sleep: he went into a coma, but adrenaline jolted him into action. He grabbed his loaded shotgun and crept to the window. In the darkness, a tiny light glowed in the darkness of the front porch. It wasn’t just Mother’s imagination! Someone was trying to get in! Assuming a defensive position at the window, he cocked the hammer, took aim at the tiny light in the dark whispering hoarsely to Mother, ” When I tell you, switch on the outside light so I can get a bead on him.” Mother was poised directly behind Daddy, clutching his muscular arm for support. He gestured toward the switch. Forcing herself to be calm, she slipped into position, prepared to flip the switch at his command. Their pulses raced, tension building as they steeled themselves to defend home and family. There were two switches side by side, one to their bedroom; the other to the porch. At his word, she flipped the inside switch! The blinding bedroom light showcased in her skimpies and Daddy in his underwear, crouched in the window with the shotgun trained on the dark intruder. Daddy swore and dropped out of view, the advantage lost!
The next thing they heard was hysterical laughter, not maniacal, just hysterical. Daddy’s brother had come by after they’d gone to bed and wanted to spend the night. They didn’t have a phone, so he had been beating on the door for half an hour trying to wake them. Fatigued with pounding, he’d finally squatted near the front door for a cigarette break before trying again. The only threat was to their dignity, not their lives.
Marriage Joke
A man and his wife enter a dentist’s office. The wife says “I need a tooth pulled. No gas or Novocain — I’m in a terrible hurry. Just pull the tooth as quickly as possible.” “You’re a brave woman,” says the dentist. “Now, shows me which tooth it is.” The wife turns to her husband and says, “Open your mouth and show the dentist which tooth it is, dear.
On their 50th wedding anniversary and during the banquet celebrating it, Tom was asked to give his friends a brief account of the benefits of a marriage of such long duration. “Tell us Tom, just what is it you have learned from all those wonderful years with your wife?” Tom responds, “Well, I’ve learned that marriage is the best teacher of all. It teaches you loyalty, meekness, forbearance, self-restraint, forgiveness — and a great many other qualities you wouldn’t have needed if you’d stayed single.
Recently a routine police patrol was parked outside a bar in the Outback. After last call, the officer noticed a man leaving the bar so apparently intoxicated that he could barely walk. The man stumbled around the parking lot for a few minutes, with the officer quietly observing. After what seemed an eternity, in which he tried his keys on five different vehicles, the man managed to find his car and fall into it. He sat there for a few minutes as a number of other patrons left the bar and drove off. Finally he started the car, switched the wipers on and off; it was a fine, dry summer night, flicked the blinkers on and off a couple of times, honked the horn and then switched on the lights. He moved the vehicle forward a few inches, reversed a little, and then remained still for a few more minutes as some more of the other patrons’ vehicles left. At last, when his was the only car left in the parking lot, he pulled out and drove slowly down the road. The police officer, having waited patiently all this time, now started up his patrol car, put on the flashing lights, and promptly pulled the man over and administered a breathalyser test. To his amazement, the breathalyzer indicated no evidence that the man had consumed any alcohol at all! Dumbfounded, the officer said, “I’ll have to ask you to accompany me to the police station. This breathalyser equipment must be broken.” “I doubt it,” said the truly proud Redneck. “Tonight I’m the designated decoy
“Spontaneous Combustion” or “Because I Love You”
Pop..pop..pop..pop..pop..pop..pop…the percussion of Daddy’s belt flying out of his belt loops would have brought me out of a coma. Of his various approaches to discipline, “Spontaneous Combustion” was my specialty and the one I experienced most, being both clumsy and a smart mouth.
Things could be rocking along just fine till someone – usually me – broke a dish, made a smart remark, or embarrassed Daddy. Though I never set out to be “smart-alecky”, I could always count on my big mouth. What I thought was funny, didn’t always amuse him. I carefully memorized jokes, even if they were way over my head, to tell at just the right moment. My judgment of the right moment was poor, such as when we had the preacher’s family over to Sunday dinner and I told loudly a joke I’d overheard on the school bus.
I hadn’t understood it, but from the reaction of the kids on the bus, it was clearly hilarious. “What day is Queersday?” A word of explanation here. We were strict Southern Baptists. I was nine years old with absolutely no understanding of sex , heterosexual, homosexual, or otherwise. I had never heard the word “queer” used except in the context of “unusual.” I was surprised the kids found the joke so funny, but made a point to remember it, nonetheless. There was no question of political correctness on my part. I was totally ignorant.
Patiently, the preacher asked, “I don’t know, Honey? What is Queersday?”
I spouted back.“Only queers ask that!” and collapsed into laughter, noticing only too late, I was the only one laughing. Daddy took me by the arm, escorted me to the back yard and Pop..pop…well, you can guess the rest.
A major argument for “Spontaneous Combustion” was that even though it was swift and terrible, it didn’t involve a wait and didn’t include a lecture, both of which Daddy used to great advantage.
Misbehavior committed during regular times called for different discipline. A lecture preceded the “whipping.” I only wish that I had grown up in more enlightened times when “whipping” was abuse, but unfortunately in the fifties, it was common. The lecture started out with a full explanation of what a horrible thing I had just done, showing where I was pointed in the future should I not be whipped that day. He droned on forever, mentioning at some point that rich people didn’t take time to correct their kids, just bought them lots of stuff ,that sounded good to me, and concluding with, “I’m giving you this whipping because I love you.” I often wanted to voice, it was okay if he loved me a little less, but never did, considering he was holding a big belt the whole time.” Eventually the lecture was over and the main event began.
“Spontaneous combustion” was not Daddy’s exclusive domain. Mother could be prompted into action, but it took a little doing. She was a diminutive little woman with a high, squeaky voice but when she did cut loose, I felt ridiculous getting swatted by Minnie Mouse. One day the Standard Coffee Man came to call. In the fifties, the Standard Coffee Man made regular rounds calling on housewives. Mother routinely bought three pounds of medium roast delivered fresh in its round, white canister with gold stars. I always coveted those canisters, but she selfishly kept them for herself, storing other goods like flour, sugar, meal, and beans in them. Since we were a one-car family, and Mother rarely kept the car, any variation in the daily routine was a welcome event. While Mother went to fetch her purse and pay the coffee-man, I perched my smarty little self on the couch right next to our guest. Always friendly and chatty, I confided that Tommy Lindsey had told me a joke, and yes, Mr. Coffee Man did want to hear it.
“How did the little moron die?” The coffee-man had no idea. “He was smoking on the roof and threw the wrong butt off!” It was the funniest thing I’d ever heard, and the Coffee-Man laughed, too. He was still laughing when Mother walked back in with his money. Mother snatched me off the couch, spatted my bottom, and sent me to my room. I never even got to say, “Goodbye” to my new best friend. The spat didn’t hurt, but I was embarrassed to have gotten a swat in front of company.
You don’t hit out of love. You hit because you can!
Night Terror
My young John’s imagination was wild. All through the day he was a superhero vanquishing monsters and besting villains, feared by evil-doers, all. Sadly, even superheroes have to sleep in the dark. When he was quiet abed, he could feel them creeping out of the shadows, coming for him. Every night, I kissed him, tucked him in, and checked under the bed and in the closet to show him there were no monsters.
Switching off the light, I’d leave the door ajar. Soon the light would flip on and I’d hear,a little voice at my ear. ”Mommy, I’m scared.”
Back to bed we’d go, me assuring assuring him there was nothing hiding in the dark. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. After a few trips, I’d enlist Bud’s help. Eventually, fatigue would overtake his fear and he’d drift off.
I’ve never been a good sleeper. Every time I awoke, I’d peek in on the kids to make sure they were covered and cozy. One memorable night as I tiptoed in to check on John my toes squished in something cold and wet, not a good feeling for a dog or cat owner.
“Crap!” I said, an expletive and likely description of what was squished up between my toes. I hobbled on my heel, toes in the air, driving a spire into the heel of my other foot. Dropping to my knees, I landed on a firetruck. Even in my agony, It was identifiable as a fire truck by the siren and flashing lights.
By this time, John was screaming in terror at the invading monster. Bud stormed to the rescue, flipped on the light, ready for action, only to find me me on the floor, PlayDo between my toes with a jack stuck in my heel.
It turns out, my adventurous son had gotten up and constructed traps for monsters about his room. PlayDo mounds were scattered about the carpeted floor. Metal jacks, cars, trucks, and all manner of wheeled toys encircled his bed.
Only a winged assailant could have gotten to him. Needless to say, it took a while to figure out what was going on and get the terrified little boy settled back in.
My throbbing foot kept me company till morning.
Don’t Start! Just Don’t Start
Grocery shopping with Mother was a thrilling excursion. Until after I was three, Mother bought on credit at Darnell’s Store, the only store in our little neighborhood. Housewives danced around out of Old Man Darnell’s reach while Mrs. Darnell scowled from behind the counter. Her mean little Pekingnese ran out nipping at us every time we stepped in the store, seeming to prefer the tender legs of toddlers, while Mrs. Darnell snapped that he didn’t bite, even after he drew blood. Mrs Darnell’s bald spot was set off spectacularly by her frizzy-dyed black hair. Mrs. Darnell and that hateful little dog will always be burned in my mind as a witch and her familiar. Old Man Darnell always had a big brown stogie hanging out of his mouth, which I was convinced was a turd. Any urge to smoke died then and there. I could never ask Mother about the cigar since I couldn’t phrase my question without forbidden words. I would have had to substitute gee-gee for the much-admired doo-doo word my cousins tossed about so freely. Even, at three and a half, knew it wouldn’t do to ask why Old Man Darnell always had a piece of gee gee in his mouth.
Eventually, Mother learned to drive, freeing her from Darnell’s Store. She insisted on driving into Springhill, the nearest town with an A & P and a Piggly Wiggly. She had to agree not to spend more than twelve dollars a week, since “money didn’t grow on trees,” nor were we a rich two-car family. Unless Daddy caught a ride to work, on grocery day, Mother had to take him to work, come back home till the business day started, Attend to her business, then pick him up at the end of his shift. That was eighty miles of driving, not including in-town driving, all this in company of at least two and maybe three small children if Phyllis were not in school. A timid driver, Mother never went above twenty-five miles per hour and often pulled on the shoulder if she saw a car approaching. First we had to drive by Piggly Wiggly where Mother parked to read all the specials posted on on butcher paper in the windows. With that money-saving information firmly imbedded in her mind, off we headed to the A&P where her genius proved itself.
Before entering, Mother powdered her nose, put on fresh lipstick, combed her hair, then turned her attention to us. In the days before she “had so many children, she didn’t know what to do,” we were all dressed up. Mother was sure to remark later who she saw who “went to town without lipstick.” We’d be eating whatever was ten-cans-for-a-dollar, reduced for quick sale, or was on special that week. We always got a box of Animal Crackers to munch in the cart as Mother inspected every can, potato, and chicken for the best buy. When we’d start badgering her for cookies, candy, and cereal with prizes, she’d say, “Don’t start! Just don’t start!” While Mother was critiquing the chickens, I remember poking my finger through the cellophane into the hambones. I don’t think she ever caught me. No Kellogg’s Cornflakes for us. We got Sunnyfield, the store brand. Long after the Animal Crackers were gone, Mother finally let the bag boy load her groceries in the trunk. He needn’t expect a tip. If she had another nickel, it was going for the specials at Piggly Wiggly.
Not long before I started school, Mother unwittingly discovered a way to ensure good behavior the whole time we were in town. She’d say, “remind me to take you by the Health Unit to get a polio shot.” My behavior was perfect till we passed the outskirts of town.
Onward to Piggly Wiggly, where she’d grab up their specials. Eventually, we’d head home with bags and bags of groceries: twenty-five pounds of flour, five pounds of dried pinto beans, a three pound can of shortening, twenty- five pounds of potatoes, five pounds of meal, three pounds of coffee, powdered milk, since it was cheaper. It seemed like it took a dozen trips to drag all those paper bags in. Invariably, a couple would break and have us chasing canned vegetables. She usually bought chicken, since that was the cheapest meat, but sometimes there’d be hamburger, roast or fish.
When I go to the grocery store with Mother now, I don’t get Animal Crackers, though I could if I wanted to. The other day were were headed into the grocery store when Mother laughed and said “Linda, will you buy me……?”
She does this as a joke every time we go in a store, now. As always, I answer back, just like she always did when I was a kid, “don’t start! Just don’t you start!” This particular day, an infuriated elderly gentleman heard the exchange, and inferred I was being unkind. I could have lost an eye before we made our explanations. It’s good to pay attention to what going on around you before opening your mouth.
Fish, Like Guests Start to Smell in Three Days (or less)
I hope my prospective hosts don’t read this before I get there. I will have limited internet access for the next few days, but I will get back to you.
I am an excellent guest. We went to visit relatives this weekend, but I don’t ever expect to be invited back.
I pulled bathroom curtain loose while showering. When I called Bud to fix it, We had to get through the requisite question first. “Why did you pull it loose?”
“I was kicking at the toilet. I intended to break it and the mirror over the sink, but this is all I managed, for the moment. I am so disappointed in myself. Can you fix it anyway? I’ll get to the rest of it as soon as I can.”
Grudgingly, he put the window curtain back up.
Later, we made a little trip into town to pick up a few things at the grocery store. Buzzy, our dog, and Bud’s aunt had gotten quite friendly. She said he could stay with her since she was going to nap while we were gone. I was a little concerned how that might go. Hurrying back, I dreaded asking, “Did he do okay?”
“Did you see that movie, ‘Call of the Wild’?” As soon as you left, he howled about every thirty seconds the whole time you were gone.”
Uncle Albutt Part 6
Aunt Jewel had several nieces and nephews I saw from time to time. Her sister Lucille, of the hairy legs, who was married to Daddy’s Uncle Dunc, had three daughters, Alma, Eunice, and Gladys.
I guessed Lucille wanted to keep to her family’s tradition of inflicting horrible names on kids including her boys, Hambone, Mookie, Teeter, and twins Fats and Snake. I can’t imagine how she settled on Fats for one of the twins. They both were skinny as snakes, though neither bit me.
I was most impressed with Alma. Mother said she was a tramp because she wore her swimsuit and moved the grass when a road crew was working in front of their house. It made no sense to me. I thought she looked beautiful with her bright red lipstick, blonde ponytail tied with a scarf, teetering along in high heeled wedge sandals. The mower gave her a lot of trouble and a couple of the guys came to check on her.
Her sister Eunice came out in her swimsuit, but she was not so popular, probably because she was extremely thin. Her suit bagged over her hips like a toddler’s training pants. Alma got a boyfriend that day. Eunice didn’t. No matter, Eunice had somehow snagged a boyfriend named Moxy. I think he followed her home from her carhop job.
Mother also thought carhops were trashy, dashing my career hopes. I was impressed when Eunice got married at the age of sixteen and had a baby shortly thereafter. Eunice and Moxy were great favorites of Aunt Jewel’s, so I heard of them from time to time over the next few years.
Gladys was nearest me in age. Apparently still under the influence of her religious, fundamentalist mother, her clothes inspired no envy in me. Her hair was tightly braided. She wore a dark, long-sleeved dress and brown leather oxfords I did not envy. Her mother kept her busy, leaving her little time to play with me. I helped her wash dishes and mop the kitchen so we could escape outdoors.
That afternoon, we waded in their pond in our clothes. Gladys said her mama didn’t allow her to wear a swimsuit. Afterward, I wore one of her Pentecostal dress and flour sack bloomers while my clothes dried on the barbed wire garden fence. I wanted to keep the flour sack bloomers, but mother insisted I give them back. I never wore anything more comfortable.
We each got a quarter of watermelon from their garden that had been cooled in their well. Late in the day, the men fried fish while we chased fireflies in the dusk.
Uncle Dunc, became progressively rowdier as the evening drew on. Though I didn’t know it at the time, It was my first experience with a drunk. Uncle Dunc began playing wildly with us, chasing us as we jumped off the high porch fronting their house into the darkness. I enjoyed the day tremendously, though sadly, never got to visit again.
I lay that deprivation directly at Mother’s feet based on a conversation I heard as we drove home late in the night. She took a dim view of drunks frying fish and chasing her children into the darkness. What a pity! I thought I was having fun.
I later got the impression he was named Dunc because it rhymed with drunk. Still makes sense to me.
Uncle Albutt Part 5
Quite often, our family and friends would gather for a late evening meal. While the kids ran wild in the dusk and on into the darkness, the women prepared a filling meal of beef stew or chili and cornbread. It would be near bedtime by the time they called us in, hysterical with chasing each other in and out of the darkness. Of course we’d been warned against running in the dark, but staying in range of the lights was for sissies. I’d be in a delicious frenzy of terror till I stepped back into the light, where all horrors vanished. They would be so many kids we’d be settled on the floor with our supper in a pie or cake pan. This was before budgets stretched to include paper plates. It was an honor to sit on the floor with the big kids. Babies and toddlers sat at the tables where their mamas could keep a grip on them. Two or three dinners were always dumped on the floor and there was squalling a’plenty as mamas cleaned up the mess and resettled the messy kids. The kids finished in short order and tore back outdoors while the adults took their turn at the
After the meal, it wasn’t unusual for the men to load up their guns, flashlights, thermoses of coffee, and the dogs for a night of hunting, leaving the women and children to visit. Mamas gave their kids a cursory wipedown with a washcloth before bed, since it wouldn’t have been possible to bathe that many children and settled them on pallets on the floor, sometimes as many as six to the bed. Mamas rocked the knee babies and lap babies to sleep before putting them on a bed flanked by pillows once the settling down started, the women started their stories. I loved these nights, especially if Mawmaw was there. She believed in ghosts and could make our blood run cold. Mother worried about nightmares, but lacked the courage to shush her mother-in-law, for which I was grateful. I NEEDED those stories. Mawmaw thrilled us with tales of babies buried alive, girls who died of broken hearts when their dead sweethearts appeared to them, and big black ghost dog, and ball lightning rolling through the house. The kids didn’t dare move off the pallet, they were so terrified. Fatigued by their play, finally they drifted off to sleep, one by one.
As the women talked, they thought they heard an intruder trying to get in the front door. Someone else scurried to check the back door, unsure if it was locked. . Had there been an intruder, he’d have had a horrible shock breaking in on half a dozen terrified women and a gaggle of children. Meanwhile Mother hurried to the door. Thinking she’d scare him away with a bluff, she called out. “I’ve got a gun. I’m gonna shoot through the door!”
Aunt Jewel stood right behind her. Obviously terrified, she shouted out. “Well, don’t just stand there! Go git your gun. You ain’t got no gun!” Fortunately, there was no intruder, or he thought he’d better not break in, since nothing happened.
Nutsrok 