It occurred to me last night, as I was telling one of my father's favorite stories to The Old Man, that my dad's stories have less than a 50/50 shot of being entirely true. In fact, when I have heard the same stories from his brother, the essential elements are there, but key and sometimes major details have changed. There's wisdom in these stories though, an effort to preserve what was and amuse and teach the next generation. I highly admire the ability to expand and exaggerate on known quantities, to spin a good story. My father (Papa) is a genius at this. So as I remember them, I'm going to write down some of his stories, the way I remember them told. Realize that now the stories have been through at least two filters, and any resemblance to the truth is irrelevant.
Robert's Pop
Robert (Papa's cousin) was left-handed in school in a time when being left-handed made people suspect you were the devil's minion. This was North Carolina, the south, where superstition was the Bible God's-honest truth. The accents can only be described as slow o's and tongues lazily skipping syllables and hot hound dogs on the front porch softly bellerin' for their supper.
For the most part Robert was a good boy, but every once in a while he acted out in class. One day Robert was sent to the principal's office for punishment and received a leather strap across his backside. He came home bruised and welted.
The next day Robert's Pop visited the principal. He walked into the wood-paneled office, sweltering already in the morning sun slanting in from the tall windows. The principal sat at his desk, and Robert's Pop closed the door behind him. He pulled out his shotgun. "If you ever touch my boy again," he said, while aiming the loaded gun straight at the principal's head, "I will kill you."
No one ever laid a finger on Robert again.
Can't wait to read more! Not only do the stories amuse and teach, but they preserve the magic in everyday experience. Listening to those stories made me realize that life is rich and mysterious. They created a filter that I see the world through, where the lines between reality and fantasy are blurred. Wouldn't have it any other way.
ReplyDeleteIt will be interesting to see if you remember any of the stories differently than I do...
ReplyDeleteThis one is already slightly different. It will be interesting. Can't wait!
ReplyDeleteWell, feel free to fill in any details you remember. I would be very interested. For example, sometimes in this story I remember Robert having one blue eye and one brown eye, making him the devil's minion. Other times it's not Robert, but Tommy or Lanny. :)
ReplyDeleteI love these stories. As an outsider, I long for the wisdom of the 20th century. My grandfather past away when I was about 8 and I only wish I had his stories somewhere...in my head, on paper, in someone else's head. There is no one left alive for me to squeeze these from. Cherish them. Tell them. Often. You're a great story teller and the mood is set beautifully. More please.
ReplyDeleteI remember that yes, whoever the kid was, had one blue eye and one green, and was told it was a sign of the devil. I also remember that the gun was a pistol, not a shotgun, and the Pop LOCKED the door behind him. No one knows what happened in that room, but RobertLannyTommy never was paddled again. Oh, and it wasn't a leather strap he was hit with but a board with holes drilled into it. 'Course, I could be filling in the blanks in my own head...
ReplyDeleteOh, I do remember the board will the holes drilled into it now.
ReplyDelete