Neither Corwin nor Kelvin could be rounded up for this cousin picture. They had other fish to fry.
Aunt Essie, like all of my aunts, was a wonder of fertility, if not child-rearing acumen. She had seven of the meanest boys outside Alcatraz. Thank God, her reproductive equipment gave out before she managed more. I thought Mother was just exaggerating when she said they’d all end up in jail or dead before they were thirty. She was wrong. Only four of Continue reading
Storytelling
Ralphie Wins and Loses, Bigtime
Daddy got another phone call from Ralphie, the kid down the road.
“Mr. Bill?”
“Hey, Ralphie. What’s going on?”
“I wrote a poem at school and won a contest.” (On his last phone call, he’d reported making all D’s and F’s and having the papers to prove it)
“Well, that’s great, Ralphie! I’m glad you’re doing better at school.”
“I won first at my school, then at district. But when they took it to state, the judge said it came out of World Book and they threw it out.”
“Well, why did they do that?
“Because it came out of World Book. Bye”
Like a Pig in Slop
Ralphy was a quirky kid who lived just down the road from us. When he was eight or nine, he’d call on the phone, asking to speak to Daddy. We were always interested in hearing what he had to say.
“Mr. Bill?”
“Yeah, what’s on your mind today, Ralphy?”
“My mama just bought some of that new White Cloud Bathroom Tissue. You should come try it! Bye.”
Another call:
“Mr. Bill?”
“Yeah, Ralphy. How are you today?”
“Fine. I just got my report card. I had all D’s and F’s.”
“No, Ralphy! Surely not!”
“Yep, and I’ve got the papers to prove it! Bye!”
Next call:
“Mr. Bill?”
“Hey, Ralphy. What’s going on?”
“I wrote a poem in school today. Want to hear it?”
“Why sure!”
“Rabbits love cribbage and cabbage.
Pigs love slibbage and slobbage.”
“That’s good, Ralphy. What did you make on it?”
“An F. It was supposed to be about the Flag. Bye.”
We all hung on those phone calls like a pig in slobbage.
Applesauce on the Rooftop
There were unspoken and implied rules. My personal favorites were the implied ones, open to interpretation. These were based on old adages such as, “If everyone else jumped off the top of the house would you?” The obvious answer was, I’d probably have been the first to jump, then swear I was pushed when some other dumb butt jumped and got hurt, implicating me as the ringleader. Continue reading
Clothilde
Repost: I was almost named Clothilde. (KLO-TEEL. Wouldn’t have taken mean kids long to rename Kotex) So were my three sisters. No matter what heinous deed my mother may have committed or may commit in the future, I forgive her because she stuck up for me when it really mattered. Daddy was raised in North Louisiana during the deepest of The Great Depression, one of seven children always on the brink of starvation. His father either rented a farm or sharecropped when he couldn’t manage rent. Daddy didn’t speak often about his family’s situation, but occasionally slipped up and revealed the difficulties they suffered. They were a troubled family, economically and socially and moved frequently. Continue reading
Little Farm Boy Warrior
We had a lovely little backyard garden just before my son turned three. Everyday we’d tend it, eagerly checking the progress of the flowers, tomatoes, radishes, cucumbers, and one lone watermelon that had somehow volunteered. We weeded, watered, and discussed every day when our watermelon would be ready. John was Continue reading
Bobo and the Bloomers(Part 5)
During The Great Depression, people had to wear it out, use it up, or make do. Inner tubes were a valuable commodity, used for everything from cutting into strips to use as elastic for clothes, making overshoes, to wrapping pipes. They were the duct tape of the era. One of the favorite stories about Cousin Bobo demonstrated his excellent taste and Continue reading
Making an Ass of Myself at a Funeral
My brother Billy and I decided to go to Mr. Charley’s funeral together. I should have known better. He always gets me in trouble. We grew up playing with Mr. Charley’s kids, in and out of their house a lot. He was a good guy. I certainly didn’t decide to go to his funeral just to make a total ass of myself. That was Billy’s doing. Continue reading
F-Word
My little niece came home from kindergarten with shocking news. “Ms. Wilson lets Betsy say the F-word!”
My sister burst out, ” I know Ms. Wilson. She’d never let Betsy talk like that.”
“Jenny insisted. “Yes she did, Betsy said their cat was fat and Betsy didn’t” get in trouble.
Nutsrok 