Charley’s Tale Chapter One

Ellen Pendergrass led a charmed life till the day her daughter, Charlotte, was born in 1938. At Ellen’s birth, her parents celebrated the long hoped-for arrival of a perfect daughter born ten years after the last of their six sons. Ellen was all any parent could have imagined, dainty, feminine, and delightful. She was all the more welcome, since her mother had despaired of ever having a daughter. Both parents doted on her and were well-able to indulge her since her father was from a long line of bankers.
A high-minded young woman, well-aware of her importance, Ellen studied music and art at a notable Southern Women’s College, though she’d never need to earn her own way. No one was surprised when she accepted the proposal of a wealthy plantation owner’s son. It was the wedding of the decade. The father of the bride built the young couple a Victorian mansion in the finest part of town and Ellen’s husband, a doctor, spent his time between his practice and his father’s plantation. His practice grew so quickly, he had to hire a farm manager when he inherited upon his father’s death. Ellen, like her mother before her, gave birth to boys, though she yearned for a daughter to follow her in society.
At thirty-nine, Ellen feared she was entering menopause, when to her great joy, she realized she was pregnant. Surely, she’d have a daughter this time. Her husband attended the home birth, of course. Ellen was relieved to hear a healthy squall at delivery, but Charles didn’t meet her eyes as he handed the swaddled infant to Cora, the maid. “It looks like a healthy girl.” In minutes, Cora diapered and swaddled the babe and passed her to Ellen to nurse.
Ellen counted all the little fingers and toes as she admired her little one. “I do believe this is the prettiest one yet.”
Charles answered, “You always say that,” then whisked the infant away immediately instead of leaving her with her mother, as he had at all the other births. “Get some rest.”
Ellen was glad to rest, but was a little concerned that Charles had taken the baby.
“Cora, was everything alright with the baby?” she quizzed Cora.
“That baby looked plenty healthy to me,” Cora turned her back as she tidied things up. “Shore had a fine set of lungs on her. You ain’t as young as you was. Git you some rest while you can.”
Miffed at the reference to her age, Ellen snapped at Cora. “I am plenty young enough to tend my baby, thank you. I have the finest skin of any of my friends.”
“Yes’m,” Cora answered.

To be continued

My Favorite Joke

The crowds had been packing the traveling “tent revival” every night that week, grateful offerings filling the pockets of the evangelist. Cure after cure was enacted in the sweltering heat of those July evenings. Emotions were at an all time high on the last night as the last two afflicted souls reached the evangelist at the front of the tent..

Struggling up the steps on her crutches poor Mrs. Smith hobbled up to the evangelist. “Heal me! I haven’t been able to walk without crutches in twenty years.”

“Yes, Sister! You will be healed! Go behind the screen and wait with the others sinners. I’ll get to you all at one time.

Johnny Jones was the last in line. “I have a lifth. It hath made my life awful. Pleath heal me of my lifth!”

“Yes, Brother!  You will be healed!  Go behind the curtain with all the others and you will all be healed at once.”

The evangelist offered up a long, heartfelt prayer for healing.  Weeping could be heard all over the tent.  Finally, he concluded, calling out dramatically.  “Mrs. Smith, you haven’t been able to walk without crutches for twenty years, have you?”to

“No, Lord!” she replied from behind the curtain.

“You are healed! Throw your right crutch over the curtain.” Her right crutch clattered over the curtain. “Now throw your left crutch over the curtain.” The left crutch followed.

Thunderous “Amens!” echoed all over the tent.

“Johnny Jones, you are healed of your lisp.  Call out to us in a loud, clear voice so all can hear!” demanded the evangelist!

“Mithuth Thmith just fell on her ath!”

Charley’s Tale Introduction

This is the first episode in a serial I posted several years ago. I am dusting it off, Charley tugs at my heart, reminding me,”Don’t shut me out! I have a story to tell.”

The outsider looking in could have been forgiven for assuming Charley was born to a life of ease. Unfortunately, things don’t always work out that simply. True, she was the much-hoped for daughter born to a prominent couple, her father a doctor and mother a wealthy socialite. She knew the joy of two adoring older brothers, an admiring little sister, a doting grandmother, and a cousin who left her a valuable estate.
Given that mix, the fates dusted in a bit of trouble to complicate the life to which she was destined. At birth, the father who delivered her, noted an oversized clitoris which he snipped before presenting her to her mother, thinking he’d spared her a life of confusion. Unfortunately, it had just the opposite result. Gender identification goes a lot deeper than outward appearances, as he learned over time.

Not only that, Ellen, Charley’s narcissistic mother was repulsed by her perceived imperfection of her child. Ellen and Charley never bonded due to her mother’s rejection. Little Charley was cherished by the rest of the family and nurtured by Cora, the family’s maid. Her grandmother and Cousin Jean adored her. Early on Grandmother Geneva and Cousin Jean recognized the child’s nature and allowed her the freedom to express it.

Charley’s nebulous connection to her mother was severed on the occasion of her baby sister’s birth. Ellen developed post-partum psychosis, attempted murder, and lived out the short period of her remaining life in a state hospital. Unresolved psychic trauma was to follow Charley from that point on.

Life has never been easy for an intersexed child. It was likely for a well-meaning surgeon to assign the child a female identity, if anything at all was done. Unfortunately, this was as apt as not to be wrong. So it was for Charley. The child who would have been celebrated as a robust little boy was expected to behave as a dainty little girl. The confusion was overwhelming. From the time Charley’s mother went into the asylum, Cora and Grandmother Geneva assumed maternal roles with both girls. Geneva and the children passed the long summer weeks at the farm and the lake house where Geneva encouraged Charley’s relationship with the Washington family who maintained the farm, knowing they’d likely be in her life for years. They were good people.

Josie, the girl who’d helped cared for the girls since Ginny’s birth had married Bobby Washington who’d grown up working the farm along with his father Robert. Since the dairy barn was no longer in use, Geneva gave Robert permission to tear it down and salvage the materials to build a cabin for the newlyweds on the land Cousin Jean left him. They worked evenings till a tin-roofed three-room shotgun house stood proudly under a pecan tree with the requisite toilet about one hundred feet down the hill. It was close enough Bobby and Josie could share the older folk’s well. It was a fine thing for a young couple to start out with a house on eighty acres they could look forward to inheriting one day.

Life was a succession of peaceful days till school attendance required Charleys to spend her days at her father’s house. Cora was devoted to both girls, spending a great deal of time with them, serving as a buffer to Ellen. Geneva lived just a few blocks over, so they frequented her home as well. Charley enjoyed several years of relative peace till she reached the age of cruelty.

Bumps in the Road Part 4

Between the time my father,Bill, worked as a night watchman until he joined the Navy he worked a variety of jobs, mostly in the oilfield. Though his education wouldn’t have impressed anyone, he was brash, strong and smart, quickly picking up skills.  His charismatic personality and quick wit drew attention. When He got a draft notice, he joined the Navy straight away, reasoning sailors ate more regularly than infantrymen. He’d been hungry so often he never wanted to be hungry again.  He sent an allotment home to help his mother which the Navy matched.  Like so many veterans, he spoke very little of his military experiences.  Of those times, he mostly told of the good times, places he’d been, and friends he’d made.  He did tell of his company being evacuated for a flood. Daddy was unbelievably hard to awaken, slept through the call to evacuate, only to be awakened by the rising water lapping into his top bunk.  He also refused to eat fruit cocktail, because at one post they were stuck with nothing but fruit cocktail for three weeks when supplies didn’t come in. I overheard him telling my uncles his crew was ordered to take prisoners back to camp and be back in five minutes. I piped up with questions and that conversation broke up. No wonder veterans come back with PTSD. God help them.

Upon discharge, Daddy joined his brothers on a construction crew in East Texas where he met Kathleen Holdaway, a recent high school graduate. She was living with her elder sister, Annie, in a boarding house and working as a waitress. Annie, ten years older than Kathleen was also a veteran, recently discharged from the United States WomenThe two were toying with the idea of moving to Chicago to start college when Daddy stopped in at the cafe. Upon seeing Mother, he told his buddy he was going to marry her. When she came to take his order, he asked her,”Hey, Shorty. What do I have to do to get a cup of coffee?” With that witty repartee, he swept her off her feet.

That took care of Chicago and college. In three short weeks they were married.

Here boy!

Paddy is extremely upset when his dog runs away. 

His wife says to him “Paddy, why don’t you put an ad in the paper?”

Paddy thinks that this is a great idea so he proceeds to do so.

Paddy hasn’t heard anything back from the ad in weeks when his wife asks him “What did you you put in the ad for our missing dog Paddy?”

“Here boy!”

Nursing Slip Up

I was reporting back to a doctor on his agitated emergency room patient I had just been caring for.  Meaning to say, “He was really bucking and fighting.” I got tangled up and said “f–cking and biting.”  Trying to recover before the doc reacted, I snapped back,” but fortunately I didn’t get bit!”

Jokes

The doctor took his patient into the room and said, “I have some good news and some bad news.”

“Give me the good news,” said the patient.

“They’re going to name a disease after you.”

How many doctors does it take to change a light bulb?

That depends on whether the light bulb has health insurance!

You might be a E.R. doctor if …

Discussing dismemberment over a gourmet meal seems perfectly normal to you.
You say to yourself “great veins” when looking at complete strangers.
You have ever had a patient look you straight in the eye and say “I have no idea how that got stuck in there!”
Your immune system attacks a dog crossing your front lawn.

A seven-year-old girl told her mom, “A boy in my class asked me to play doctor today.”

“Oh, dear,” the mother sighed nervously. “Tell me exactly what happened, darling.”

“Oh, not much. He made me wait 45 minutes and then double-billed the insurance company.”

A SHORT HISTORY OF MEDICINE: “Doctor, I have an ear ache.”

2000 B.C. – “Here, eat this root.”
1000 B.C. – “That root is heathen, say this prayer.”
1850 A.D. – “That prayer is superstition, drink this potion.”
1940 A.D. – “That potion is snake oil, swallow this pill.”
1985 A.D. – “That pill is ineffective, take this antibiotic.”
2000 A.D. – “That antibiotic is artificial. Here, eat this root!”

A man comes to the doctor desperate for relief from chronic migraine headaches. When the doctor takes a look at his medical history, he discovers that his poor patient has tried practically every therapy known to man for his migraines and STILL no improvement. “Listen,” says the doctor. “I have migraines, too … and I’m going to give you some personal advice. There are no clinical studies to back this up, but this is what I do for my own migraines, and it works for me. When I feel a migraine coming on, I go home, take a nice hot bath and soak for a while. Then I have my wife sponge me off with the hottest water I can stand … especially around the forehead. This helps a little. Then I get out of the tub, take her into the bedroom, and even if my head is killing me, I force myself to have sex … and this almost always cures my headache. Give it a try and come back in six weeks.”

Six weeks later, the patient returns with a huge grin. “Doc! I took your advice and it works! It REALLY WORKS! I’ve had migraines for 17 years and this is the FIRST time anyone has ever helped me!”

“Well,” says the physician, “I’m glad I could help.”

“By the way, Doc,” the patient adds, “You have a really nice house.”

An elderly woman walks into a plastic surgeon’s office and tells him she wants a facelift. He says “Well, we have three options. The first is for $1000 and is guaranteed for one year, the second is $3000 and is guaranteed for 3 years and the last is $5000 and it is guaranteed for 5 years.”

The old lady says “Well tell me about the various procedures.”

The doctor says, “For $1000 I can take a few years off and smooth out your wrinkles, but you’ll need to have the procedure repeated year.”

“Forget that one,” she says. “What about the other options?”

“For $3000,” the surgeon explains, “I can do a much better job. I can take twenty years off your face, but you’ll still need a touch up every three years or so.”

“No, that’s no good either,” the woman complains. “What about the last option?”

“For $5000,” the doctor replies, “you are going to get the best facelift modern medicine has to offer, with a feature that is on the cutting edge of plastic surgery technology. I’ll attach a screw to the back of your head and if you notice your face sagging, you can come back in and I’ll tighten the screw.”

The old lady is delighted and has the surgery, but about 6 months later she returns to the office very upset. “Doctor, I want my money back!” she cries. “I look horrible! Look at these bags under my eyes!”The doctor leans back in his chair and says, “Lady, you aren’t getting anything back. Those bags under your eyes are your tits and if you keep turning that screw you’re gonna have a mustache.

Perfect Timing

Life presents us some perfect moments it would be a sin to ignore.  Bud, my husband of fifty-four years, and I were walking across a parking lot on a drizzly day when Bud noticed my boot lace was flopping.  “Tie your shoe!”

“I’ll tie it when I get inside.  I’m not standing in the rain to tie it,” I spouted.

“Stop!  You’re gonna break your dang neck!  I’ll tie it!”. He dropped to his knee on the wet pavement to tie it just as two men walked by.

“No,” I protested.  “I won’t marry you! Now get up.”

They burst into laughter as they passed us.

Can You Give Me Some Clothes?

I had the privilege of being an acute dialysis nurse for more than twenty years. I cared for many of them from the time they initiated care and saw them on follow up admissions. We exchanged stories about our lives, families, and even exchanged pet stories. I loved them, even if they were difficult, and many(but not all) loved me. One day, one of my favorites, Mrs. Smith, was in the hospital, again. All my patients will be identified as Mr. or Mrs. Smith for the sake of privacy.

After I initiated her treatment, we chatted a bit like we always did. Out of the blue, she asked me, “Can you bring me some of your clothes? I ain’t got nothing to wear home.”. We were of an approximate size.

Shocked, I asked. “Why on earth don’t you have anything to wear home? What happened to the clothes you wore when you came in? Can’t your family bring you some when they come to get you?”

“No, they all got burnt up.”. She was cool as a cucumber.

“Your family all got burned up? I didn’t hear anything about that!”. I was horrified by her terrible news.

“No, my clothes all got burnt up when my house burnt down. The ambulance brung me in. I was in my nightgown. I ain’t got nothing left. I don’t even have a robe and I’m cold up in that room.” She explained calmly.

“Oh Mrs. Smith. That’s awful. I’m so sorry. Of course I’ll bring you some of my clothes. I have a sweater in my locker I’ll send back up to the room with you.” I felt so bad for her.

I got the the sweater and called Kate, our excellent social worker. It was after four and community services were closed for the day. Kate jumped on the problem. She raided Lost and Found and found her a couple of robes, some slippers, and underwear. She even came up with a wristwatch and reading glasses. Mrs. Smith was so pleased. I went through my closet that evening. Tiptoeing Into Mrs. Smith’s room before she awoke, I left her bag of outer clothes, shoes, and a coat. Kate didn’t let any grass grow under her feet. She accessed community services first thing the next morning amassed a good bit of help. About ten, The Red Cross called back.

Before Kate could complete her request the representative  cut her off. ” Is that Mrs. Mary Smith who lives at …..

“Yes it is,” answered Kate.

“Ma’am. She’s confused. She asks everyone she meets for help. Her house burned down over a year ago. She lives at Golden Oaks Nursing home now.” They informed her.

Kate couldn’t wait to get back to me, telling me her news. I guess that’s why we didn’t hear about the fire, but she did get a nice collection of goodies out of the deal.