Saturday, July 1, 2017

When the truth hurts

I was in the veterinarian’s office the other day having a lump on my Boston terrier’s leg looked at when a woman, her six-year-old daughter, and their large dog came in.  The little girl was taken with my Molly and asked if she could pet her.

“Sure,” I replied.

“What’s her name?”

“Molly.  See all this white hair on her nose?  She’s old.”

“Like you.”

“Shelby!”  admonished her mother (not sure that was her name; I don’t recall. . .first clue)

I had to laugh.  “I guess that’s true,” I admitted.  Shocking, but true.

Ah, the honesty of children.  I carried on in conversation like nothing had happened, asked about their dog, asked how old the little girl was, and said goodbye when they left.  Soon the vet examined Molly, diagnosed a benign tumor, prescribed a steroid to reduce the inflammation, and recommended surgery.  (Not so fast there, doc.  We’ll wait and see if it heals on its own.  She’s 13 and I don’t have an extra $300 lying around.)  

But as soon as we got home I was checking the mirror for any clues that would belie the fact that I am not 29.

#seeingmyselfthroughrosecoloredglasses     #notreadytoadmitmyage

What about you?  When has a child been brutally honest with you?


Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Little House by the Football Stadium

When I was about four we moved into town, which was the tiny city of Van about five miles away from where we had been out in the country.  The little old house my parents rented sat on a corner across from the local high school football stadium.  Across the street lived the Perrys and the vacant lot next door soon had a brand new brick home (with a garage!) occupied by the Monds family, whose daughter Lisa was my age.

Behind us lived a nice middle-aged lady in a mobile home which fascinated my brother and me, and once when we visited her with our mother, we got to see her fish aquarium, which was even more intriguing.  We had never seen such a thing in someone's home before.  In fact, we had never seen a home made of metal with a tongue for pulling, either.

My brother Allen in 1963 with his metal farm truck.  The field house and high school football stadium are behind him.

Across the other street (we were on a corner), a pump jack seesawed up and down day and night pumping oil.  Van experienced an oil boom back in 1929, attracting thousands of people.   Only a couple of thousand people live in the city now, but pump jacks can still be seen doing their jobs.  With the active imaginations of young children, my brother and I pretended the pump jack near us was an angry monster.  I didn't want to go anywhere near it.  Allen, on the other hand, always showing off for his sisters, declared he could ride it if he could get on it somehow.  I never knew if he was serious or just trying to get a rise out of his protective older sister.

Image result for oil pump jack Van Texas
Image source

We kids were fortunate that there was a sandbox, not just a sand pile, in our yard under some trees.  We spent many an hour out there, playing in the gritty sand, never telling our mother about the moist little clumps of dirt we would find, which were probably cat feces (Ew!), because the sandbox was never covered.  It's a wonder we ever made it to adulthood.
Did you ever do anything you'd never let your kids or grandkids do now?

Stay tuned. . .next time:  JFK.