My mother’s good friend Betty brought her new baby to church for the first time. Mother rushed over to her friend, all prepared to gush over the little guy. Betty had him wrapped in a beautifully crocheted shawl. Flipping back the blanket, she revealed the homeliest, poor little guy Mother had seen in quiet a while Shocked, Mother stammered, trying to remember the compliment she’d had at the ready before seeing him. “Oh, oh! It’s a baby, isn’t it!”
Storytelling
Jimmy Sasses Sweet Miss Billie
Sweet Miss Billie 
This is an excerpt from my book in progress. It is a collaborative memoir of my mother’s memoirs of The Great Depression.Pictured above you can see Kathleen Holdaway, left to right from grades 1 through 5 Please don’t be too hard on Miss Billie. Corporal punishment was an accepted part of education at that time.
I adored Miss Billie, my first grade teacher. I hungered for her approval, strived for perfect work, and admired every thread she wore, her floral scent, her ladylike jewelry, and her kind, modest manner. Heaven could have granted me no greater wish than to grow up and be just like her. And above all this, Miss Billie was fair and gentle. One day after lunch Jimmy Wilson shocked us all by “sassing” Miss Billie, earning me the privilege of serving as message bearer to Mr. Kinnebrew, her husband and the principal. I proudly carried a note concealed beneath red and white checked napkin covering the lunch basket Miss Kinnebrew packed for them daily. I almost felt like a member of the family, being on such intimate terms. I knocked shyly, intimidated by the powerful man. He opened the door just a crack, took the basket, and returned it to me moments later, without a word, to my great relief. I returned the basket to Miss Billie, got her smiling nod in return, and scurried back to my seat.
She, Jimmy, and the covered basket exited the room. The entire class gave the door just time enough swing closed before rushing to claim prime viewing spots at the large crack afforded by a missing panel, the faster, more aggressive kids and the lucky ones in the back rows getting the best views. Despite our enthusiasm to see the show, we restrained ourselves sufficiently not to push the door open and fall out into the hall in harm’s way. After a quick lecture on manners and respect, Miss Billie had Jimmy bend over, grasp his knees, pulled Mr. Kinnebrew’s belt from the dainty basket, doubled it and gave him three stinging licks across his backside. As Jimmy rubbed his bottom, Miss Billie tucked the belt beneath the napkin, took Jimmy by the arm, and led him back to the classroom, just ahead of the thunderous sound of the class returning its seats, which she somehow failed to notice. No mention was made of how Mr. Kinnebrew was to keep his pants up the rest of the day, since neither the basket nor the incident was referred again, but Jimmy was respectful the rest of the year. I think he’d seen a new side of Sweet Miss Billie. It was an altogether edifying and satisfying experience for the rest of us.
It Wasn’t My Fault
My son ran in from the yard, smugly ratting his sister out. “Sister threw a rock and broke a light on the car!”
Baby Girl was right behind him, protesting her innocence. “I wasn’t trying to hit the car. I was throwing it at him.”
Smart Alec and Speechless
A few years ago, we were traveling through a country area and turned the radio to a farm program. A farmer called in to advertise peas for sale, giving his name and number. A few minutes later, someone called back asking for the name and phone number of the farmer with the peas. The DJ lit rudely into the caller, telling him he should have been ready with a pencil to write the number down as it was announced. He didn’t have time to go digging through phone numbers just because people didn’t listen.
Not surprisingly, it made the caller furious. “Well, you just go to Hell!” Click!
The DJ sputtered, “Well,….well…It takes one to know one.”
Overheard at Work
Stop now if you are easily offended. Contains adult content!
We all have different parenting styles.
I overheard a hilarious phone conversation a furious friend and co-worker had with her teenage daughter at work one day. (repeated verbatim)
“Kaylee, You been gittin’ in my drawers!”
Pause
“Yes you have! I can tell you been diggin’ around in there! Them’s f___ing panties! Is you f____ing!”
She slammed the phone down. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with that little ‘ho! I can’t keep her out of my f___ing panties”
I was rolling on the floor, laughing.
Hiss in the Dark
Late one night, my son was in the garage unlocking the back door without turning the light on. He heard the cat eating, so reached down to pet her. He was rewarded with a horrible hiss. Flipping the light on, he found he’d disturbed a mother possom, with numerous babies on board, dining at the cat’s bowl. Snatching his hand backhe found it nasty and greasy. It appeared the possom was still filthy from feeding on roadkill. He insisted, though he washed over and over, he couldn’t get the odor off. Oh, the babies hissed,too.
Patio Chair Redo
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I found some great vintage chairs to redo for my patio. I couldn’t be trusted. Bud was possessed, got out his blow torch, torched and wire brushed the paint that was left. He straightened the frames, rewelded a few areas, put new casters on several of the legs. He primed and made beautiful new seats out of pine. I did come out and started taping the metalwork while he went to bathroom. This is my work, which occasioned him to say, “Shit, Honey!” when he returned. The first picture is his work, the second, mine. Look at the beautiful pine white pine seats he made. Isn’t he amazing? We have $80 invested in these chairs. Now, on to the table. It is a sunflower mosaic on plywood, on a base he made about 30 years ago. Pictures of that later.
I
Woman’s Work is Never Done
“Them that don’t work, don’t eat.” We must have looked like a hungry bunch because Daddy made sure we worked. Farm work was a regular thing, but when Daddy had invited folks in for a holiday, he kicked it into high gear. The place had to be groomed; brush cut, fence rows cleaned out, fields bush hogged. It was always good to have something new lined up to show progress; another few acres cleared, some pecan trees planted, a new field fenced. It wouldn’t do to have folks thinking we’d been just lying about.
Work was divided into “Man’s Work” and “Woman’s Work.” Women were lucky. As far as “Man’s Work,” Daddy believed in equal opportunity. Womenfolk were expected to work right alongside the men, just as hard and long. Due to our lesser strength and inferior expertise, however, we couldn’t be expected to handle complex tasks involving tractor driving, bush hogging, and equipment use, when there was lesser manual work to be relegated to peons. We were, however, excellent candidates for piling brush, chopping bushes, and wielding simple tools such as hoes, post-hole diggers, shovels, and wheelbarrows. Fetching and carrying were our forte!
Fortunately for the girls, once we had labored long and hard with Daddy, we were free to pursue “Woman’s Work”; that would be cooking dinner after a long day’s work. As often as not, Mother worked alongside us, so “Woman’s Work” started after “Man’s Work” was complete. “Man’s Work” was over at the end of daylight. Men couldn’t cook, clean, do laundry, or milk cows. Fortunately for men, according to Daddy, there was some obscure Bible verse I never heard quoted or referenced anywhere else, that said, “Thou canst not take what thou cannot give.” He also hinted at possible hormone issues. How’s that for rustication? I often felt sorry for Daddy and Billy as they collapsed at the end of a long day while we were cooking and cleaning. They must have felt just awful.
Anyway, back to the holiday. Once we’d worked like fiends preparing, the long-awaited guests arrived, amid compliments on the resort-like beauty of the farm. “I wish I lived here. It looked so restful.” (You should have been here the last week!) Daddy’s mood was effusive. He was a wonderful host. “Get Aunt Lou some more coffee and cake!” “We’re running low on iced tea out here.” He’d charm my cousins. They’d be riding horses, riding the zip-line running from a tall elm to way past the pond, and swimming in the pond. It must have looked like a theme park to poor, deprived children who had to lie about watching cartoons, riding bicycles, playing with friends, and drinking Kool Aid all the time. I felt so badly for them when they’d say, “I wish he was my daddy!” So did I!
Time Out for Smart Alecks
My dad was more creative than factual when making a point. When there was no dessert, he pointed out. “My mother or sisters made a cake every day.”
Other times, when we were ungrateful for how great we had it, he’d tell us his family sometimes went three days with nothing to eat but peas.
i piped up. “Why didn’t y’all eat one of those cakes your mama or sisters made every day?”
He took time out his busy day to teach me the difference in smart and smart aleck.
Nutsrok 