Crackers

Last night was the start of the NASCAR truck series.  We don’t waste our time with the boring Nationwise or monotonous Cup races, we stick to the trucks so we can root for our hero, Johnny Benson.

Johnny was the champion of the truck division last year and we anxiously settled in with our snacks to see how he would do with his new team.  He held the lead for a little while and was consistently in the top ten before he got caught up in a big multi-truck crash.   Once he was out of the race, we pretty muchly quit watching.

There’s a certain driver who always seems to get near the front no matter in which division he participates.   You have to give him credit, he just goes as fast as he can without any fear.  He also doesn’t have any regard for the other drivers.  Quite often he gets the lead by bumping, spinning and even crashing his competitors into the wall.   Last year with one lap to go and Johnny in second place, this yoyo wrecked our hero.  We can’t stand him!   

Last night Johnny was fighting for the lead with this moron was right on his back bumper.  The announcers kept talking about him “…this young guy can really drive and he’s worked all the way back to the front.  What a great driver…”  etc, etc,  etc,

I made an innocent remark like “If I was Johnny, I’d be pretty nervous with that damn cracker on my tail!”

Sean says “What did you say?!”  He sounded just like my dad.

I said “That guy’s a damn cracker”

“Dad!!  You can’t use that word!   It’s insensitive and racially offensive”

“Oh, Hell!  Offensive to who??”

“ All white people.  It’s just like the “N” word.  You can’t use it because it’s hateful” 

“It’s not offensive to me.  Just because they tell you something in school doesn’t mean it’s true.  Besides, there used to be a baseball team called the Atlanta Crackers and nobody was ever offended by that ”

“Yeah, well what do you know?  Your grandpa was in the klan”

“OK.  Fine.  You’re right.  I’m sorry.  It’s my fault.  I’ll try to do better”  (hoping to shut him up and end the discussion – It doesn’t work with Patty either.  In fact it makes her madder when I say that) 

“Good”

” Hey, Sean.   Just one thing”

“Yeah?’

 ”You know we’re both crackers, don’t you?”

——————-

Patty’s cousin is a good old farm boy and I like him a lot.  He always gives me a smile and a warm gretting and I really enjoy his company.  He may get a little excited discussing politics, but in general he’s an even tempered, good natured fellow.  He never seems to worry about little things like frozen water pipes or property taxes.  There’s no bother – they’ll still be there tomorrow.

Now he enjoys a good poker game and got involved in a big one the other night in Henry County ( a cracker mecca, if there ever was one).   He was one of only two players left and both felt they had the hand to take the big pot.   They were both so sure they had winning hand and they kept betting and raising.   It got to the point where neither had any money left, but they had to bet something.   (I once threw the rights to Mary Lou into a pot, but unfortunately I won the hand.)

Being a good old boy, he pulled out his fancy pocket knife.  “This is a $100 knife.  Very rare and very good.  Not very many of them made and it’s a Case”  and he dropped it in the middle of the table on top of the big pile of money.   Then he looked at his opponent.  “What do you got?”

“I’ve got a six-week old, AKC registered blue tick hound that I’ll bet”

“You do, huh?   Well, where’s  he at?  I don’t see no dog and I ain’t gonna bet on something I can’t see”

So the other poker player goes out to his truck and comes back with this sleepy little puppy.   And he drops him on the middle of the table on top of the big pile of money.

The cousin says “I call.  What do you got?”   It turned out he had the winning hand.  He raked in all the money, his favorite pocket knife, and his new coon dog.   I’m sure that puppy will get to ride all over the place in his pickup truck and be his buddy.  I wish I could have been there.

—————

Roger was working on the ceiling of his new house the other night and lost a fight with a crow bar.   It slipped out of hands and landed right on the bridge of his nose.   His nose has a big cut on it, and his eyes are a little black & blue.  I said “Do you think you might have broken your nose?”  He said “Nah, it feels a little flat in the middle, but I don’t think it’s broken”

Spending Money

It’s hard to believe that Fatsean turned 11 years old last month.  He is one of the unfortunate kids that has a birthday very close to Christmas and each year I suggest we combine the two big days into one day of gift giving.  He always refuses even after I explain the substantial amount of money we (I) would save.

Sean has never been one to even think about saving money.  When he was just a baby I starting drilling him – “Money is our friend, and we don’t throw our friends away”.    It hasn’t done any good, and as soon as he gets a dollar we have to run uptown for a little bag of Hot Fries or a candy bar.   It doesn’t faze him when my friends tell me “Dust the cobwebs off that old wallet” or “You throw dimes around like they were manhole covers.”   My loving wife likes to say I’m “thrifty”.

Over Christmas and his birthday Sean received a grand total of $225.  I was pretty interested in how he was going to handle this windfall and I knew better than to just hand it over to him and say “Spend away, crazy dude.”  I insisted that $100 of it go directly into his bank account and he could have the rest to splurge on anything he wanted.

Saturday was the big day.  We went to the bank and he walked up to the counter with his checks and bank book and told the teller “I want to deposit $100 and get the rest in cash.  In $5 bills”   She didn’t even bat an eye and as she counted out Sean’s wad I watched him.  His lips moved with every bill she laid down – 5, 10, 15, 20, etc.  A nice thick pile of bills.

Our next stop was to the local Alco store.   He had been harping about the new Madden NFL X-box game and he wanted it dearly.  Earlier he had told me “It’s only $60, plus tax, and that’s not bad at all”, but when  it came time to make the purchase he just couldn’t do it.  “That’s a lot of money” he said.  “Let’s go look at the shirts”.   After strolling through the boys clothes for about 15 minutes he decided there wasn’t anything worth buying and we headed for the toy department.   He couldn’t find anything he really wanted there, but that money was burning a hole in his pocket and he had to buy something – anything.   I knew where we would end up – sporting goods – and Sean finally bought a pair of “awesome” batting gloves.  “Only $3.99, plus tax” he said.

He has managed to keep most of his money.  He very nicely treated us to a pizza with breadsticks the other night and bought his pal Tiger some treats today.   The rest of his bankroll is hidden in his room where nobody can find it.  I checked it this evening and he still had over $50.  I suggested fuel oil for our furnace would be a good purchase, but he just gave me that look and I didn’t even get an answer from him.  But at least I feel there might be some hope for him yet!

———————————-

My brother-in-law Roger has moved back into the area and has been looking for a house to buy.  He’s pretty handy and has been checking out foreclosed properties that need some work.    I went with him to look at an abandoned place the other day.  We met the real estate agent and Roger really checked the house out from the foundation to the attic.  I gave him a few of my opinions on improvements & remodeling but spent most of my time chatting with the realtor.   Roger thought he had found a pretty solid little house and wanted to make an offer on it and we all headed to the realtor’s office.

Now think about this from the realtor’s point of view -  You have two men about 50 years of age looking at houses together.   These same two men are discussing improvements, remodeling, decorating, etc.   Neither of these two men are wearing a wedding ring, yet both of them go to the office and the bank together.    So as Roger is filling out the paperwork the realtor says to him “As I was telling your PARTNER earlier..”    For one of the few times in my life I was speechless.   And of course my loving wife was very supportive when I related the story to her.

——————————

We had a big bank robbery here in Mayberry yesterday.  It was quite an event with police cars from the town, county, and state on the scene complete with yellow “DO NOT CROSS” police tape.  It reminded me of the old Arlo Guthrie song “Alice’s Restaurant”

“… being the biggest crime of the last fifty years and everybody wanted to get in the newspaper story about it” 

The Richmond paper had pictures of the robber from the bank’s cameras.  A white guy, about 5′ 7″ and 170 pounds.  He had a hooded sweatshirt pulled over his head and a white scarf around the lower part of his face.  All you could see was his eyes.  

——————————

Ups & Downs

This past weekend was quite different from the usual boring existence that we seem to enjoy so well.  My wife & I are at the age where any kind of change is a disturbance rather than something to look forward to with excitement.

It all started around 1:00 Friday morning when Sean woke up very uncomfortable with redness and swelling in his face.   He seemed to be in a fair amount of pain, yet he complained of numbness in his chin, cheek, and forehead.  “I can’t feel my face” he said.   So I prescribed him my usual remedy – a nice hot bath and some ibuprofen.    Unfortunately that wasn’t the cure and we ended up having a battle over what to do next.  I thought a dose of Benadryl was called for, but he thought otherwise.   As usual, I eventually won but even the Benadryl didn’t help.   His pain and redness had gotten worse so we did what we usually have to do.

We got bundled up, hopped in the car and drove through the first good snowfall of the year to the emergency room through the uncleared streets and highway.   I asked him a couple of times “You still want to go?” hoping he’d say “I’m much better”, but he didn’t and he wasn’t.

I’ve become an old hand at hospitals and emergency rooms.  I know enough to take a list of all his medications – how much he takes and how often, and I always have to go through the whole list of medical procedures and problems he’s had.   I carry a little card with me to show the authorities why he just might set off a metal dectector.  It’s a bit of a pain and I always wonder why this information isn’t kept in his file, but it never is.

After the interview the admitting nurse asked me if he had any other problems and I told her “only an occasional bad attitude” and she snapped “Well, I do to”

We got to see the doctor pretty quickly and he diagnosed a “severe sinus infection”, gave Sean a pain reliever and some antiobiotics, and sent us on our way about 3:30.  He slept most of the way home and I had to drag him itno the house and put him back into bed.  I knew he’d sleep until early afternoon and I hoped he’d feel much better.

Everything went according to plan until he woke up around 6:00 AM Saturday and realized it was bowling day!   He loves his bowling league and I hoped he would sleep right through it.   When he woke up and starting getting ready to go I didn’t even try to convince him to stay home.  He didn’t bowl very well and came home worn out and slept some more.

It was then that I noticed we had some serious problems in the bathroom sink drain.  I hate plumbing.  I’m too big and old to lay down under the cabinet and pull out all the stinky gunk.  And I always have to do it twice.   I’m a terrible plumber, a poor carpenter,  I can lay tile reasonably well, but my real talent is in destruction.  I can tear anything apart!

Sunday morning I got up around 5:00 and noticed the house was a toasty 61 degrees.  I guess when it rains it pours and I waited until a decent hour to bother the furnace man.  It always seems to be a Sunday or a holiday when I actually need him, but he came right over and told me “It’s the nature of the business”.

Those were the lowlights of the weekend.  Every single one of them a real pain, but they were offset by something that made me very happy.  I suppose it is only important to my wife and me, but we feel it is a great achievement.

I have a sister who recently wrote about sentimental items that she keeps for no good reason other than she just can’t throw them out.  And I have a niece who works (somehow) in the publishing industry.  She has passed her love of reading onto her children and all of them seem to always be in the middle of some book.   I thought these two little stories fit in quite well with something else that happened this week.

When I was a kid in Toledo, Ohio the city had an “all trash day”.  You could throw away anything you wanted and the city would pick it up during spring cleaning.   It was common that the less fortunate would make their way into the better neighborhoods and take home “new” furniture and clothing.   I don’t think anybody was bothered by this, in fact I think it was expected.

I would also look through neighbor’s trash and found one treasure that I have kept to this very day (for no reason, other than I can’t throw it out).   A 1935 edition of “Treasure Island” inscribed “To Harry Dickey, from Mother and Dad, Christmas 1936″.   What a great book!   Long John Silver, Black Dog, Old Blind Pew, buried treasure, pirates, etc.   I couldn’t put it down and I spent all my spare time devouring every page of that wonderful story.  I even dug some holes in the backyard looking for pieces of eight.  Ben the dog got the blame, but it was all me.

Now when Sean became a second grader he was expected to read 60 minutes every week at home.  He had absolutely no interest in anything I recommended, or any reading at all for that matter.  I pulled out my old “Treasure Island” and said “Now this is one great book!”.   It was over his head, but I’d read a page and then help him with a page.  After the first chapter he got bored, but I told him “Keep going!  It gets better.  You’ll like it”.   So we struggled week after week until he told me “It stinks and I’m done”.  We would finish our weekly reading minutes on such riveting material as Colts.com or Cubs.com or NFL.com or NASCAR.com.

A couple weeks ago I actually caught him reading on his own.  He had gotten a book from  the school library -  his own “Treasure Island” so to speak – “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” and he read that thing from cover to cover in about ten days.   I was very proud of him and tried not to show my boredom when every evening at dinner I’d hear about Tom & Huck, and listen to him wonder how Tom was going to get away from Injun’  Joe.

The next week happened to be the school book fair and he stuck me for $36 in books and $2 in erasers shaped like little stacks of baloney and crackers (really).  I figured it might be time to nudge him toward my favorite book again, but he has other plans now.  

“I’m going to read a biography of Mark Twain if I can find it”.

Latest Events

I was sitting at home last Friday evening, not doing a darn thing and the phone rang.   Now you can believe what you want, and you can call me crazy, but it was one of the most enjoyable phone conversations I’ve had in a long time.  I enjoyed every minute of it.  Following is a very accurate and nearly complete transcript;

“Hello”

“Hi!  Is Jane  there?”

“No, she’s not here right now.  May I take a message?”

“I’m calling from the Jill Long-Thompson for governor committee and I’d like to talk to Jane about our candidate.  Is Jane registered to vote?”

“She’s ALWAYS voted.  She has never missed an opportunity to do her duty under our great constitution.  Unfortunately, she’s not in the best of health and probably can’t make it to the voting booth this year”

“Are you aware that the Wayne County Democratic party would probably be very happy to give her a ride to the polls?”

“Well, that’s nice.  Can I go with her?”

“Of course!!”

“Great!   Can I vote for her?”

“Oh, no.  That’s not allowed.  We can get her an absentee ballot if you’d like.  It sounds like that would make it much easier for her.  Where would you like us to send it?”

“West Lawn Cemetery”

“What?”

“The cemetery.   She been dead for twelve years, now.  In fact – it was twelve years ago this very night that she passed away”.

“OH!  Well, um, I’m sorry.  Please vote for Jill Long-Thompson for governor”

Click

———————

As Sean and I do our running around it seems we are constantly battling over control of the car radio.   I’m the driver so I feel I get to choose what we listen to.   Sean doesn’t always like my favorite stations and he’ll just reach over and change it to some new stuff that irritates me, but entertains him.

I don’t know if I was in a generous mood, or just not up to a battle but I didn’t complain when he pushed the “seek” button and went all up and down the dial looking for his brand of music.   He finally settled on something he liked and I politely and nicely asked him “What the hell is that crap?”.   He enlightened me, “C’mon Dad!!  That’s Three Doors Down!” as he looked at me with hopeless pity,  “They rock!  Yeah, Three Doors Down!  Just listen, they’re cool!”

So I struggled through this “cool” music hoping the next song would be a little more appealing to me.   Next up was some rap song with a booming bass that just bothers the heck out of me.   I said “What the hell is this crap?  It’s even worse!”  I guess the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree and to prove it Sean reached over and turned up the volume for no reason other than to irritate me even more.  I said “Can you hear it now?” and he just laughed at me.

Well, two can play this game.   We were on Broad Street so I turned it up even louder still.  I reached in the back seat for a baseball cap (which I put on backwards), slouched down in the seat with my hands over the steering wheel and slowed the car down to a crawl as the radio blasted ” BOOM-BA-BOOM-BA-BOOM-BA-BOOM”.

“DAD!!  DAD!!  STOP IT!!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING??!!”  

“Why, son,  I’m just bein’ cool.  Just chillin’, know what I’m sayin’?” 

“Aw, Dad.  You aren’t cool.  That’s embarrassing.   Oh man.”

“Son, they don’t come much cooler than me.  I was cool way before you were born and I’m still cool.  No doubt about it.  Just ask your mom.  We can’t be any cooler than this.  Cruising Broad in this groovy four door Escort – a real chick magnet!!”

“Yeah, right, Dad.  Whatever.  You can change it now if you want” 

Someday he’ll learn not to get into a battle of the wits with the old man.

———-

The Dog Show

 

Saturday mornings are reserved for the “men” in the family to do our running around.   When I say “men” I mean all three of us – Me, Sean, and Tiger the dog.   Yes, we take that silly dog with us every Saturday morning, and if we stop at McDonalds it is insisted that I buy Tiger his own McMuffin.  He gobbles it down in less than 30 seconds and spends the rest of the breakfast time giving us the “sad eyes” and drooling in the back seat.    If we don’t stop at the golden arches he whines as we go past.  No kidding. 

We got Tiger from the pound about a year and a half ago.   He was just a skinny little dog and as we left the lady told us “He’s a Plott Hound”.   Okay, cool,  we’ve got a Plott Hound – whatever that is.    When we got home we got on the internet and looked him up and sure enough, we had a Plott Hound.  We were shocked to find out we had a dog that was bred specifically to hunt bear, but now is used mostly as a coon hunting dog.   My wife and I were a little worried that we had allowed our son to choose a  hunting dog who was described in one article as “The NInja of the Dog World” and “The Toughest Dog Alive”.

Of course Sean was in love with him before we even got home so we were stuck with him.  He seemed friendly enough and eventually we found out he is a great dog.    He’s always ready to play, but if nobody is in a playful mood, he’s more than happy to doze off at his owner’s feet.   He was easily housebroken and quickly learned the rules.  Kids can hug him, lay on him, push him, pull him - it doesn’t matter – he’s wonderful with kids.   He’s a good watch dog and leery of strangers, but warms up quickly to anybody we invite in the house. 

Saturday we went to our usual stops including the bank where the teller sends a biscuit through the window for Tiger and a sucker for me.   Every week I get my envelope at the drive thru and say  ”Hey!  She gave me a sucker”.  Sean starts yelling and grabbing for it and the lady in the window laughs at us.  Sometimes she tells me “That’s not for you!!”

As we were done with our chores I remembered there was the UKC dog show in Richmond and we agreed the three of us ought to check it out.  It’s not what you think – it’s the 49th annual Autumn Oaks coonhound show and hunt considered to be the largest in the world and attracting 17,800 people.   I thought all three of us would enjoy looking at Redbone puppies and Blue Tick champions and maybe get to see a demonstration or something.

One little, unimportant bit of information I should add about Tiger.  He hates,  ABSOLUTELY HATES, other dogs.    

Sooo – we go down the country road to the fairground and see tents and campers and dogs chained to the fence or in pens.  Immediately Tiger’s hackles are raised and he starts screaming.   He screamed all the way  down the road,  through the main gate, and all through the fairground as we drove very slowly looking for a place to park.  He didn’t stop his howling until we parked and got out of the car.  Then he was very happy just sniffing and walking around on his leash.  

We saw license plates from Virginia to Nebraska,  Texas to Tennessee, and all kinds of hunting dogs.  The people were very friendly, Tiger behaved himself and Sean had a great time petting all the puppies.   I had no idea this was such a big business.  Some of these puppies had $800 price tags on them.

We walked past all the tables and booths along with quite a few other people walking their dogs.   We ran into Jordyn, a friend of Sean’s and she was all over Tiger hugging him, petting him, talking to him.   It was pretty crowded and every once in awhile we’d have to stop and try to get back in the flow of the crowd.    As we stood there with Jordyn up came this old boy from Tennessee with his Red Tick hound.  I assumed he was from Tennessee because he had a T-shirt with a hound dog imposed on a rebel flag under the word “Tennessee”.   Tiger and the Tennessee hound wagged their tails, sniffed noses and rear ends, and started making pals.   Sean reached over to pet the Red Tick hound, and then it happened -

Tiger attacked.   

In a flash he had bowled this dog over on his side and was on top of him growling and biting.   It was awful.  He’s over 60 pounds and when he’s excited It’s a struggle to pull him back with the leash.    All I could think of was “my unregisterd, low-life Plott Hound is chewing up this $800 dog”    The Tennessee boy yanked his dog away by the leash and yelled at me “mai! yodahswald’ which I interpeted to mean “Man!!  Your dog is wild!!”.

Well, it was time for us to go.  We were outsiders and were no longer welcome in the “real” coonhound world.  Under steely glares and evil eyes we hung our heads in shame and went to find the car.    All except Tiger, of course.   He was the happiest hound in the place.  He had kicked some dog butt and held his tail very tall and proud, and actually appeared to strut. 

As soon as we got in the car (trying to get away unnoticed) Tiger starts screaming again.  He screamed all through the fairgrounds, through the main gate, and all the way down the country road until every last dog was out of sight.  

When we first got to the fairgrounds and saw the prices on these dogs I told Sean “I hope somebody offers us $500 for Tiger.  We can sell him and get you another dog.   A BETTER dog”.   I received a punch in the arm and a chewing out.  “NO way!  You can’t sell him.  He’s part of our family and we love him”.  He’s right of course, but after Tiger’s rednecking at the dog show it would have been very tempting.