Memory Lane

Where does your memory lane begin and end? Is there an end? Each memory is sparked by one defining characteristic and that is because it impacted you. Whether or not it is a glance of the past, where history lies, or whether it was this morning where possible changes can be made, and history can be rewritten. Memory lane lies in your mind and your perception of why you revisit it. My memory lane is ever constant, hiding around every corner, surprising me sometimes. Some of my memories seem to never end. There is an addition of the story that lives on forever, that continues to be told, thus not ending. I have so many twists and turns in my memory lane, that I don’t think they can ever all be told. Some memories are just little flashbacks, like the time my brother Buddy found a 2X6 board that had been painted with an enamel-based paint. It was white, shiny and very slick. This time, the story is on him. Well, Buddy got the bright idea to bring it in the house, which was already wrong. Rodney was small, yet remembers, I asked him last week. It was getting on in the evening and it was nearly time for dad to be home from work when Buddy brought in this stupid board, propped it against the couch and we three began to climb on the couch and slide down the board over and over. Of course, mom kept telling us to get it outside, but, boys will be boys! Her warnings fell on deaf ears apparently, for no sooner than she told us to get the board out of the house, my dad walks in and catches us sliding on the board. Needless to say, we all scurried and ran under the kitchen table. Dad came in the kitchen and told us to come out. Well, Rodney and Buddy came out and got their dues, but I didn’t want to. I knew what was going to happen. I remember saying “if I come out will you not fwoop” me? He said no, “I won’t whip you”. I will never forget the pronunciation of that word. Well, he lied. I came out and got a good spanking and was sent to bed with Rodney and Buddy and that’s where we stayed till morning. Other memories in random float by before I can finish the ones I’m working on, like the evening my dad cooked a goat outside in a fire. I can remember using a lot of catsup on mine, it was terrible! I remember stealing money out of my dad’s wallet and waiting till morning to walk to the store and buy a bag of candy. Yes, it was a twenty-dollar bill, dad missed it and wondered how we got all that candy. I lied and told mom that someone had given it to us. I didn’t have a chance to get under the kitchen table, and I never could find where I buried the change in the dirt, bills and coins. Twenty dollars was a lot of money in 1963 and probably should have been questioned when a four-year-old goes to pay with it. Anyway, for a day we were happy. I remember the first time I ever flew in a plane, I was so scared that I wouldn’t get up to go to the bathroom. By the time I got to the terminal, I thought my bladder would burst, as if this is something you wanted to know. You see how many twists and turns can abruptly change in my memory lane? I see my older brothers playing football in the sleet, while I’m in the football stands wrapped in a blanket. I need a passing lane. LOL…..

Copyright @coffeewithcharles.blog (Charles D. Grant)

Just for Laughs

Growing up in the country presented my siblings and I with so many chances to laugh. I will share with you a few of the funniest memories I have. Third place goes to my younger brother Rodney. I promise in just a second or two a smile will spread wide across your own face, despite the fact it could have been dangerous. As most kids growing up, we had chores to do and growing up on a farm, there were plenty of them. We had this jersey bull for several years, just long enough to remember we all got to know him rather well, but not as well as Rodney. I remember he had long horns, but he never displayed aggression, the bull that is. We didn’t even keep him in a fence, we just kept him on a long chain and would carry a hammer and a stake out in the fields where the grass was green and leave him out a while. Poor guy, Rodney couldn’t have been over 5, maybe 6 years old, but this task didn’t take brute strength to do. So, from the barn we go, Rodney putting the chain around the ole boys neck and starting to walk him out of the old barn. All is good, we see Rod walking out in the field, probably about 200 yards from the well house, when all of a sudden, we hear a scream and a yell to beat the band. We look up and there is Rodney running across the field, the old bull gaining fast, with a buck here and there, as if he were playing. I don’t know what he did, but the bull was pretty excited. Rodney losing ground, we see the ole bull tilt his head sideways and with one flip of his horn, Rodney was in the air, his legs still running. He hit the ground pretty much with a thud, but the ole bull didn’t want anymore to do with him, so Buddy grabbed up the chain, gave it a pretty good jerk and the ole bull followed him to the field where he was staked out and stayed a few hours until it was time to bring him in. Second, starting out funny and ending up badly for me. One day, Buddy and I were climbing in the trees as we did nearly every day. Buddy was hand walking out on a limb that was pretty thin. What was I thinking? I start slinking from the other side of the tree and decide I am going to knock Bud out of the tree, well it worked. I jumped on the limb, it broke, Buddy fell and broke his arm. Nothing I suppose was really funny except the fall, but he got to wear a cast for a while. I guarantee there was no party for me when dad got home. Here is the coup de gras, FIRST place for this blog. I mentioned briefly in another blog about my twin sisters, well several times. They were probably 16 or 17 years old. My dad was strict on them, they didn’t get to date until they were 18. In the late 1960’s, the Viet Nam war was still going strong and it was often that HWY 83 was trafficked with convoys of tanks on trucks, trucks, helicopters on flatbed army trucks, etc. You get the picture. The girls, being girls, were always girly and goofy, or is what we boys thought at that time, we were all younger than them. One day they tell mom they are going to walk down the old dirt road to the mailbox. Now close your eyes and visualize that our mail box was probably a half a mile away from our house on the opposite side of HWY 83. They could never be alone, there was always one of us brats pretty close behind. I remember following them, only I was creeping across the neighbors cotton-field. As they walked, they began to go faster almost into a sprint, all the while arranging and rearranging their attire and other things. Blue jean shorts began to roll waaaaay up too high. Shirts became unbuttoned by themselves I suppose, tied around their waist and their girls were propped up as high as they could get them. By the time they get to HWY 83, there is no way to get to the mailbox because it is on the other side of the convoy. It was like a freak show, LOL. The poses, kisses, twirls and shouts that were made. The GI’s were hanging out windows, hats waving in the air whistles, swoons and an awful lot of noise. After the convoy had gone by, the mailbox was checked, with nothing in it. I could see them wiping their mouths, removing lipstick, rolling down their shorts, buttoning their shirts, all the while laughing all the way home about who looked at who and who got the most kisses. It should have been made into a Broadway show. Consequently, they both married military men. Their secrets were never safe, there were too many eyes. LOL. Growing up with brothers and sisters was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. Occasionally we reminisce about these funny little people that lived in an old brown house down an old dirt road. 😊

Copyright @coffeewithcharles.blog (Charles D. Grant)