“It’s All Fun and Games till Somebody Loses an Eye!”
I heard that warning so many times when I was a kid I could have sung it back to my parents before they’d finished, if I’d had a death wish. All I had to do was run with a glass, toss the scissors, or jump out of a tree on a kid to get them started. I was a smart, tough kid. I KNEW I wasn’t going to get hurt. I had the power of ten because my heart was pure. Well, maybe not pure, but I was sure I had the power of ten.
At any rate, only one time did I ever know of a kid to lose an eye from horseplay, and that circumstance couldn’t have been anticipated. Thankfully, I wasn’t involved. One of the neighbors had a large peanut patch. For those of you who don’t know, peanuts grow underground and have to be dug up. Mr. Jones had already harvested his peanuts and a group of neighborhood kids played in the field, an entirely harmless pastime. Had there been a crop left, it would have been a heinous crime, but the parents were sitting close by, drinking iced tea and watching the kids at their peanut war. They’d eat a few peanuts and toss a few. The greatest harm one would have expected would be a bellyache from too many raw peanuts. Unbelievably, a kid was hit in the eye with a peanut shell, scratching his eyeball. His parents rinsed it and sent him on his way, not thinking much of it. By the next day, the eye was swollen and infected. The boy ultimately lost his eye from that accident, a totally unexpected outcome.
kids
Champ and the Easter Hat
Illustration by Kathleen Holdaway Swain
I knew Champ, our horse, loved me since he trotted up to the fence every time he saw me. I carefully held my hand flat and let him snuffle up goodies with his velvety muzzle. My big sister said it he’d love anyone who slipped him apples, sugar and carrots, but she was just being mean. I didn’t tell my friends and cousins the trick, so they were scared he’d bite them. Before long, I found he could help himself to treats out of my pocket or off my shoulder.
My grandmother had written that she was coming for Easter and bringing Easter outfits with hats and shoes. I didn’t hear much except the part about outfits with hats and shoes. I was thrilled! I had been dying for a cowboy outfit with red boots, red hat, and shiny pistols in a holster but Mother said I needed other things worse. Good old Grandma knew what really mattered! I was up before daylight waiting for her. Breakfast and lunch dragged by…..…..nothing. I was getting more and more upset. Maybe Grandma wasn’t coming. Maybe she got lost. Just before dark an old black car crept up. We all flew out to the car, trying to get to her first. “What did you bring me? What did you bring me?” Mother tried to shush us, but nobody listened. Grandma was slow getting out of the car and slower getting in the house. No wonder it took her so long to get here. We got busy and helped with her bags and a big brown box from the back seat. There was plenty of room in there for a cowboy suit and lots of other good stuff.
Even though we were dying, Mother made us wait till Grandma went to the bathroom, got a cup of coffee, and caught her breath. She was slow at that, too. Finally, Grandma got the scissors and started cutting the strings on the box. She was so old her fingers shook. It took forever. I could have ripped into that box in a second, but would Mother let me? Noooooo!
Just before I died of old age, Grandma started pulling things out of the box. I knew she always saved the best for last. I got a gumball machine full of gumballs. That was great!! Next she pulled out a baby doll and handed it to me. Grandma couldn’t seem to remember I hated dolls, but I tried to be nice about it. All baby dolls were good for was burying when we played funeral. I tried to be patient till she got to the cowboy outfit. Finally, she hit bottom. She made me and my sister close our eyes and hold out our hands for our outfits.
I peeked just a little and was furious!! This was a horrible joke! We were both holding fancy Easter dresses, big ridiculous straw hats with flowers, and shiny white shoes. I hated them! Where were my cowboy boots and guns? My mother gave me a dirty look before I could tell Grandma what I really thought. I hated dresses, but Mother made us put on our Easter getups and pose next to the fence for a picture. It was hot. The clothes were scratchy. We looked stupid. My prissy big sister kept dancing around like a ballerina while the mean kids from next door laughed at us across the fence. I’d be dealing with them later. Boy was I disgusted.
Mother was as slow as Grandma. While I stood there like a dope waiting for her to take that darn picture, Champ came up behind me expecting a treat. We both got a big surprise. I felt a big scrunchy chomp on my head. The strap on my hat stretched tight, snapped, and that horrible hat with the flowers was gone. I flipped around, and Champ was eating my Easter hat. He still had straw and flowers sticking out of his mouth, but I could see he didn’t think too much of it either. He was the best horse ever. I never had to wear that hat again. He did love me!
How to Get Your Yard Work done in Three Simple Steps
My dad had a fool-proof plan to get his yard-work done easily and painlessly (for him). Let the leaves and tree debris pile up pretty high in the fall and spring. Mention casually a couple of times, “You kids are gonna’ have to clean up this yard in a few days.” Let a couple of days pass so they hope you’ve forgotten or gone blind. Come home from work on Friday afternoon in a jovial mood. This works best if you are normally a real grouch. It’s best if one of your brothers is visiting and your kids ask to spend the night with Cousin Becky, Susan, or Joey. Implement step #1
“No, Y’all have to clean the yard tomorrow, but they can stay with you if they want to help.”
He was serious about them staying, always hoping to get a little of work out of them. Even though there were no Einstein’s in our family, no cousin was ever that dumb.
“No, I am not staying! I don’t wanna’ clean the yard!” They were in the car before the screen door slammed.
Traitors!
Step #2 The next morning he’d roll us out at six am, anticipating a good day. We didn’t talk much at breakfast, especially avoiding the words yard, sweep, work, and leaves. It’s amazing how often a word jumps out when you are studiously avoiding it. “Billy didn’t LEAVE any jelly for me.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get all the LEAVES you want today.” He made crappy jokes, playing on our dread.
Finally, he’d push his chair back, “Time for the friendships to end and the work to begin.”
I would have enjoyed flailing the genius from whom he’d picked up that cruel witticism. He routed us into the one-acre yard where the lecture began. “Now, get the wheelbarrow, rake, and yard broom. I want all these sticks picked up first. Then one of you can rake, the other sweep and the other pick up the leaves and haul them back yonder to the burn pile. Now, I mean for this yard to be clean when I get home.”
With that, he was off to whatever he had planned that day. The task looked endless, with drifted leaves from dozens of trees, shrubs, and fallen sticks. I would have gladly traded places with Sisyphus and his rock.
We had to fight a while before we got started. Phyllis was the oldest, so she commandeered the yard broom, the prize implement. Billy and I got stuck with the rake and wheelbarrow for loading and hauling leaves. Of course, we had to fight a while before we made a good start. Mother usually brought the little girls out and redirected us before she got back to her work of the day.
Step #3 Cleaning that yard would have been a huge job for a yard-proud person. Three fighting kids cleaning a yard didn’t go that well. The first time or two, we were of the mistaken belief we could make a pathetic excuse and get by with a half-done job. Daddy was of the opinion that no well-balanced kid could get through a day without a good whooping, anyway, so he was happy to oblige. He frequently quoted, “I might as well whip y’all first thing in the morning and get it over with.” A few stripes paid off handsomely in the next day’s efforts, and he had the satisfaction of knowing he hadn’t “spared the rod and spoiled the child.” We were motivated to do the job right.
Yes, indeed, Daddy knew how to get his yardwork done in three easy steps. Just so you know, I am not advocating this plan.
You Used to Be Beautiful!
One warm afternoon in late May, 1960, Billy and I were lying on the living room floor as Mother reclined a few minutes with her feet up wearing the heavy surgical weight stockings the doctor had ordered. She was six months into a difficult pregnancy with her last child,and was supposed to be off her feet. She had spent a good portion of the morning tying to keep an eye on her fourteen-month-old, Connie, while trying to coax twelve-year old Phyllis and me at ten to do a little housework, help with Connie, and even get a little work out of seven year old Billy, while keeping him out of trouble. Phyllis was watching Connie. We were all terminally lazy, slacking off at the first excuse. None of us had any intention of doing anything we could avoid.
As we dawdled at her feet on the floor in the draft of the attic fan, one of us pulled out an old photo album. I quickly found a picture of her made her senior year of high school, the peak of her youth and beauty. “I graduated thirteen years ago today,” she remarked smilingly.
In my infinite wisdom, I proclaimed, “Oh Mother, you used to be beautiful!”
I turned for her smile, only to see a snarling, slobbering, swollen beast ready to pounce on me in rage! “”Used to be beautiful! Let’s see what you look like when you have five kids in twelve years! Put this stuff up, right now. Linda, you take your smart mouth and get those dishes washed. Phyllis, you put a pot of beans on for supper. Billy, you…”
By the way, this is not the picture in question. That one mysteriously disappeared
Mrs. Johnson Sets Me Straight
The time I spent getting to know my patients was the best part of nursing. As a hospital dialysis nurse, during the course of a four-hour treatment, we had a lot of time to talk. One of my favorite patients was a lively little seventy-year old lady, the mother of twenty-one children. I never knew what she’d have to say. When I expressed my amazement at her having so had many, she told me, “It wasn’t so bad. I had a set of twins, so I was only pregnant twenty times.”
“You must be proud of your kids,” I answered.
“Huh,” she snorted. “Ain’t half of ’em worth the powder it’d take to blow ’em away. I gotta keep my purse right with me.”
“Oh.” I had no other response to that.
She was always full of wild tales about getting the best of her “old man” who was twenty years older than she. I inferred they had a warm relationship, but she straightened me out when I expressed my condolences at her next treatment after his death.
“Mrs. Johnson, I ‘m sorry to her of your loss. I know you must miss your husband.” I dreaded the lonely times ahead for her.
She cackled. “I’m glad that old devil from hell is gone. I thought for sure he was gonna outlive me. My daddy gave me to him when I wad’n but thirteen years old. He beat me ever’day long as he was able. I was so proud when he got old and stoved up so I could take a piece of a firewood to him any time I got ready. I mean to tell you I whooped him many a time.”
She always gave me plenty to think about.
6 Reasons to have Kids
1. Curiosity: Go ahead and see what you can whip up. Drift into a hormone-induced fog thinking how great it would be to have a baby with all the combined charm of you and your sweetie. Realistically, that baby is just as likely to exercise its genetic options and come up with a nice mix of Cousin Fred and and Aunt Myrtle’s worst traits.
2. Karma. You have to “pay for your raising.” I can’t tell you how many times my mom wished “fifteen kids who act just like you” on me. What a horrible thing to curse a kid with! The woman had no conscience! Nothing makes you forgive your parents’ horrendous mistakes like screwing up your own kids.
3. Kids keep you humble. Nobody knows more about raising kids than folks who’ve never had one. There is no surer way to ensure your kid will humiliate you on a regular basis than to criticize somebody else’s kid. Never, never, never say, “my kid wouldn’t do that.” They are probably doing it right then on the six o’clock news.
4. Budgeting is no problem once you have kids. Except for rent, groceries, and utilities, and minimal clothes for yourself, everything goes for kid expenses. It will be many years before you have to bother yourself about fancy cars, entertainment, vacation, savings, or investments.
5. Educational benefits. I never realized how little I knew until my first night home with a new baby. Nothing I did worked. Though child care looked simple enough, nothing I’d ever done prepared me for the challenge. As they grew older, my incompetence grew exponentially. By the time they were teenagers, I barely had enough functioning brain cells to tie my shoes. Thank God, a few years after they left home, I seemed to be functioning moderately well. It’s amazing how children in the home makes parental IQs plummet.
6. Hopefully, they get grown and give you beautiful, well-behaved grandchildren, asking you to babysit only on rare occasions.
Outclassed and Outsmarted
Getting our kids off to school used to be a dance with the devil. The devil definitely knew all the steps. I always laid out shoes and clothes, (no substitutions allowed) lunches, backpacks packed, papers signed with everything ready to roll the night before. That created the illusion of sanity and was good for a laugh. I was up at five a.m. to get my shower, dress, and cook breakfast. The kids always wanted hot breakfast, so I was guilt-ridden to make sure they had eggs, grits, and toast. As soon as it was on the table, I woke Bud and turned to circus over to him. He was supposed to railroad them through breakfast, get the dishes to the dishwasher, make sure they brushed their teeth and hair, and got out the door with everything. About fifty percent of the time it worked as planned.
Sometimes one of them would let the dog escape, fall in a puddle on the way to the truck and have to change or remember they’d hidden the note saying the Science Fair Project was due today and start bawling. Occasionally one would throw up or discover a rash at breakfast or the bus stop. Once Bud left them at the bus stop with some other kids and they all stayed there till after nine before walking home to call and let us know the bus never ran. (so they said) Once my daughter sneaked back in and changed pants. Bud had to pick her up as soon as she got to school because she had a “stomach ache.” As soon as she got home she changed pants and was miraculously cured. He took her right back to school.
I do miss those little daily struggles. If only my fertility could be restored and I could started all over! Ha!
Great Test Answer
More Gravy?
Bud said his mother almost killed his ambition when he was a kid. He asked her what was the difference in the food they ate and what rich people ate.
She explained, “Oh, we eat the same food. They just have more gravies and sauces than we do.” Continue reading
Nutsrok 