Tag Archives: family

“Boys that age get a little carried away”

Posted on by
1

I muster up Miss Brave. “Daddy? Can an almost twelve-year-old have a friend that’s almost fourteen?”

“Of course, Sugar Pea.”

“Even if it’s a boy?”

Daddy sighs and creases his forehead. He places both hands on my shoulders. The pressure feels like serious is coming. “Emma June. Boys that age get a little, a little, carried away sometimes and don’t always think with their heads. Do you know what I mean?” His eyes beg me to understand.

I think of Frank who got carried away with his need for moonshine money and blackmailed me to get it. I think of the man behind the flea circus tent who told his girl, “We’ve been friends a long time now. Time for something more.” Then Carla and me Heard a loud smack across his face and the man yell, “bitch”.

“Boys want more than a girl might wanna give,” I say.

“That’s right. And a boy hasn’t got any right to take it if a girl says no.”

“But what do I have to take?” I never let Frank take my dollar. And I didn’t let Brandon dance with me at the carnival.

Daddy sighs again. “Maybe, since your Mama is away and all, this is something you should ask Miss Helen. In the meantime, don’t let any boy touch you.”

I don’t tell Daddy, but he’d be proud knowing I didn’t shake Frank’s spitty hand.

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket

 

During the interrogation, Possum speaks lovingly about his wife

Posted on by
4

Possum bolted out of his chair, knocking it down. “I swannin’, I never kilt nobody an’ I don’t plan to. I ain’t an eye-fer-an-eye kinda feller,” he said, looking at me.

Giovanni picked up the chair. “Hell, we know that, Possum. Calm down.”

Sheriff Tobin removed his hat and patted the table. “Just sit for a spell and hear us out.”

O’Connell did as told, rubbing his beer gut.

Sheriff Tobin stuffed his hands casually in his back pockets. “Miss Duecker, here, says you remember seeing Miss Sanders, the lady with the yellow scarf, at Menger’s.”

Mr. O’Connell let out a shiver. “Gotta show…show…show y’all somethin’.” He retreated to his bedroom and returned with a cat under one arm and a yellow bonnet under the other. “This here,” he said, lifting the cat up to his shoulder, “is mine.” He placed Dawg on the floor and held out the bonnet. “This here belonged to Edna. She loved this head wrap. Had it fer many years. Thought about burying her in it, but I jest couldn’t do’er…couldn’t do’er. Wanted to have it to remember her by.”

Van Riper shifted his weight from one leg to the other and heaved a deep sigh.

“Anyhow,” Possum continued, sitting again, “that’s how I come to remember that yeller scarf. Bright as this here bonnet. I’d been drinking Menger corn juice thinkin’ ’bout Edna when I saw that scarf round that woman’s neck. Almost like Edna done sent me a wink, wink, wink from heaven.”

Excerpt from The Last Bordello

kindle-ready-front-cover-jpeg_6175044-copy

 

Lovingly

What would Mr. Rogers say now?

Posted on by
3

Yes, that’s me in the photo with Mr. Rogers. In the 1990’s, before I retired as an Early Childhood Specialist, I took my mom with me to the National Association for the Education of Young Children (NAEYC) conference in Anaheim, CA where Mr. Rogers was to be the keynote speaker. On the day before the evening speech, Mom and I were walking around the big almost-empty auditorium when I heard Mr. Roger’s voice somewhere behind me.

I followed that soft, kind voice and found him with David, his PR manager, both checking out the venue before the speech. I introduced myself, told him what I did for a living and how much I loved him.

My mom, who was never the meek sort, chimed in and said, “And I’m just a grandma.”

Whoa! She never expected his response. He told her that being a grandmother is one of the most important jobs in the world- how they are a major contribution to a child’s well-being – how there is a special kind of love between a child and a grandparent.

After the goosebumps settled, I said, “I wish I would have remembered to bring a camera. I would have loved to have our picture taken together.”

Mr. Rogers said, “That’s okay. David, can we use yours?”

His PR person first took a photo of Mr. Rogers and me, then Mr. Rogers insisted my mom be in the next one.

True to his word, the 5/7’s were sent to me a week later.

264530_10200411362504959_529677630_n.jpg

Mr. Rogers was a man of honor, dignity, truth, kindness, and much, much more.

But I wonder what he would be thinking now if he knew Paul Ryan has proposed budget  cut including $445 million in Public Broadcasting Subsidies. Actually, I know what he would say. He did it before. When President Nixon threatened the same cut in 1968, Mr. Rogers, in his kind, eloquent way, spoke before the Senate Subcommittee. 

You can see his testimony here. And it’s well worth the watch.

Long live the spirit of Mr. Fred Rogers!

Bonnie and Clyde and Amelia Earhart?

Posted on by
Reply

            I don’t know why, but it makes me kinda proud that Clyde’s best weapon came from the town where I was born. Bonnie and Clyde entered my life several times one way or the other  before the Texas Rangers finally gunned them down.

          In February 1934, right after we moved to Rotan, Bonnie and Clyde robbed the National Guard Armory in Ranger. The armory was where Clyde got his favorite weapon, an Automatic rifle. He cut off part of the barrel, got three ammo clips and welded them together so it would shoot fifty-six times without reloading. That’s why Clyde called it his scatter-gun.

         Amelia Earhart was another celebrity who came through Ranger. She landed her Autogyro at the Ranger airfield in 1931. It’s a shame that she went missing just six years later and that we still can’t find her.

            But for me, the real celebrities from Ranger are Ma and Pa.

         I close my eyes again but it’s no use. My seat companion says, “You ain’t done yet, Cono.” Again, I give in to the nudge and open up that old cigar box of things I don’t care to see. I picture that tiny little girl sock, the one that used to be in the box of specials, the one that belonged to my kidnapped little sister.

Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper, a story about my father

The Greatest SHOW in the world is not …

Posted on by
1

… the retired Ringling Bros. Circus.

The Greatest Show in the World is  witnessing:

the sparkle in an older woman’s eyes when the toddler runs to her with arms wide squeaking, “Grandma!”

the squeals of delight attached to smiling faces of children playing in the park

the pride of a loved one who achieved a great accomplishment

the long awaited reunion of members of a family

… and the list goes on.

But what is the greatest of all, of everything that’s meaningful?

Experiencing these feelings of love and joy.

IMG_0242.jpg

 

 

Franken-Farter

Posted on by
Reply

I set down my lunch sack, take off my Mary Janes, and step over a railroad tie that borders the sandbox. “Hey, Scoot,” I say.

“Emmy!” he says without looking up from the hole he’s already made. “Dig for gold?”

“How deep’s it buried?” I ask.

“To the island,” he says, loud enough for others to look over.

If Miss Primrose is in sight, the bullies shut their traps and don’t make fun of him for the way he talks, or the way he likes his blond hair cut into a burr but makes his Mama leave the three red patches an inch longer. “Strawberries patches,” he calls them.

Seven-year-old Janie clambers over and says, “I want to find an island.”

Me too. I want to find an island. Anywhere but here in the Hilltop school yard. Stupid name, Hilltop. We no more sit on a hill than Mama’s home cooking chicken and dumplings.

Janie and Scooter start chattering, so I dig my toes further into the sand and imagine pulling Mama out between my toes. That’s all the treasure I need.

A shadow hovers over me, but I don’t turn when it says, “Playing with retards?”

Scooter pays no mind to the comment and keeps digging for gold.

I look behind me. Frank’s hands are in his pockets. He’s pushing himself up and down by his toes.

“Don’t know how tall you are?” I say.

Frank looks at me like I have an ostrich head. “Huh?”

“You keep bouncing on your toes. You wanna be a ballerina Someday?”

“You gonna play in a sandbox all your life? Even when you’re all grown up?”

“You’re not grown either, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I’m older than you. So, you’re that girl whose Ma disappeared.” He’s not nice when he says it. “And your daddy’s missing.”

I look toward the seesaw for help. The top hairs of Rachael’s red bob take turns bouncing up and down with Carla’s blond ones. They don’t pay me any mind.

“You’re stupider than you look,” I say. “Daddy’s at work.”

Scooter stops digging and looks up into Frank’s face. “Can’t disappear. Houdini died!”

I love how Scooter accents the words that are important to him. It’s his way of saying something important without having to string a bunch of words together to make a proper sentence. Scooter’s world is filled with magic, and not just because he loved Houdini.

Frank shakes his head and looks at me. “This dimwit your friend?”

“At least you got one part right.”

He puzzle-faces.

“Who’s stupid now?”

“Keep playing in the sandbox, Enema,” he says.

I go back to digging trying my best not to stand up and claw out his eyes. I hear him spit and stomp off.

I want to speed through time so Miss Primrose can ring the dismissal bell. Nothing’s the same, and now it’s worse since Frank-furter entered my life. I think I’ll call him that. No, even better. I’ll call him Franken-Farter. I smile and yell the name inside my head and reach for my lunch sack. It’s gone.

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket

Featured image photo credit

 

RAW Journal Kernels -Am I still here?

Posted on by
2

I haven’t done one of these in a while and I’m overdue. This one makes me laugh. (Andy is my brother-in-law)

In case you are new to these: Skimming through these old treasures, I had this thought: “What if I shared kernels, bits of my past from numerous journal entries?” All kernels are raw, unedited and scanned into this blog. 

peace-bubbles-3