If you read my earlier blog posts you have seen my story
about my ultra conservative family. What I did not tell you is that I have
become a cautionary tale to my family (like the boogeyman, but I don’t just hide
out in closets). By cautionary I mean I am the one they use to scare their
children into submission. It seems to work and it only required one nephew
staying with me to scare their kids straight. Apparently when he got home he
told his mother (my sister) that he didn’t want to be poor and please not to
send him to live in the sad place anymore. I am so pleased that my house is now
called the sad place.
Not
that I really wanted my nephew to come stay with me. My sister, Janie May,
called me to say Peter was in trouble and she did not know what to do
next. She said she was sending him to me for a little while. My response was immediate.
“The
hell you are!” I thought I was being firm since I really do not want a
delinquent in my house. I have enough trouble with two surly cats. I don’t need
a teen in the mix. I say that because I have worked in a public school and I
know what those kids are listening to today. I don’t want some kid with Bieber
Fever in my house. Then Janie May played her trump card.
“You
better let Peter in or I will tell mom what you have been doing instead of
coming to family meetings.”
“You
wouldn’t.”
“I
would so tell her that you went to a liberal political rally. See what happens
then.” She had me. It is a real threat since liberal is a dirty word in our
mother’s house. Granted, they all know I am a little (okay, a lot) off but that’s
inexcusable in this family.
Eventually
the boy came around to my house. We spent the first night just staring at each
other.
“Mom
made me come here.”
“I
know.”
“Your
house is small.”
“So am
I. It works out that way.”
“Mom
said you move around a lot.”
“That’s
true enough.”
“Mom
said you have never had a real relationship.”
“Also
true. Sad, but true.”
“Mom
says you’re just going to feed me spinach, okra and kale.”
“Your
mother is a damned liar!”
At this
point, my two giant monsters came into the kitchen and began circling Peter.
“What
are those?” He asked as he pointed at them.
“Those
are my cats.”
“They’re
huge.”
“Yes,
they are. Try not to show fear. They live for that.”
“Why
are they staring at me?”
“You
could be their next meal. Try to sleep with one eye open.”
“Don’t
they stay with you at night?”
“They’re
not allowed to sleep in my room at night. I’m not going to die that way. Watch
out for when you wake up to their sniffing your eyes. That means you are in
trouble.”
“How
long do I have to stay here?”
“Until
I can find a way to get your mom to take you back. The sooner you leave the
better. The cats don’t like you but don’t take it too personally. They don’t
like anyone.”
“I’m
hungry.”
“There
is ketchup and lettuce in the fridge. That’s all I have right now.”
He
stared at me. I stared at him. The cats stared at him. He continued to stare at
me. I shrugged. He took out his cell phone and called his mother.
“Mom, I
am so sorry. I want to come home and promise I will never do anything again.
Please…” Two hours later (after he spent 73 minutes hiding from the cats) his
mother came to pick him up. Word of this spread and they still talk about me.
No one has ever come over since.
Her Majesty, Kim Bookless, made this better
No comments:
Post a Comment