Daily Excerpt: Of God, Rattlesnakes, and Okra (Easterling): Momma, Do Something!
Excerpt from Of God, Rattlesnakes, and Okra
MOMMA, DO
SOMETHING! That would be my sisters complaining about me. They started dating
when I was barely a school-age urchin. When their suitors called, Momma sent me
out on the front porch to entertain them while the girls finished primping.
Taking this duty seriously, I poured my heart into it. Sadly, my efforts were
not always appreciated.
One of
Edith’s beaus was plagued with teenage acne, which left ugly pockmarks. Trying
to make conversation, I asked if someone had shot him in the neck with
buckshot.
Sister
Iris fell for a fellow whose notable feature was big tobacco-stained front
teeth. As we sat on our porch swing making small talk, my beloved hound dog Ole
Pup joined our waiting party. I noticed his teeth looked a lot like Pup’s.
“Do you
know that your teeth look like Ole Pup’s?” I asked him. He must’ve thought it
funny because he laughed nervously. Iris failed to enjoy the joke.
Geraldine’s
first boyfriend was a lanky teenager who wore western jeans, cowboy boots, and
a Stetson hat. Grandpa nicknamed him “the Gunman."
On the
front porch swing one evening, I asked Geraldine’s new admirer if it were true
he carried a pistol in his jeans pocket.
“Momma,
please do something about him!” the girls pleaded. Instead, when Iris and
Geraldine were old enough to go to church socials, Momma insisted they take me
along. Was she sending me to spy on them, or did Momma simply need a break? She
never said.
One
starlit evening, I sat on the roots of a giant Live Oak tree, watching as my
sisters’ youth group played “Spin the Bottle." This was during WWII when
meat was rationed.
A
particularly bashful boy took the Coke bottle and twirled it around in the
sand. To everyone’s delight, it landed, pointing to a girl who weighed about
300 pounds. As he reluctantly took her hand and sauntered off down the road, I
loudly pip squeaked, “Well, meat’s not rationed with Robert Ford!”
When we
got home, my sisters told Momma, “We’d rather stay home than to take him
along!” Don’t you think they overreacted?
Sister
Edith went away to Mississippi Normal College (for teachers) when I was just a
sprout. There she met Archie, who owned a car. We’re not sure if Edith was
smitten with Archie or his car. Their friendship blossomed; Edith brought him
out to meet her family. He apparently passed the parent test, becoming a
frequent family guest.
One day
Edith asked if she could invite Archie out for Sunday dinner. This was exciting
news for a kid living out in the boonies. Momma would be cooking big time. Her
groaning board would overflow with fresh corn, tomatoes, peas and butterbeans,
cornbread, and banana pudding. The highlight of Momma’s home cooking would be
her southern fried chicken with buttermilk biscuits and gravy.
So,
preparations began. Only one thing was missing. Daddy hadn’t yet killed a
chicken by wringing its neck and chopping off its head with his axe.
Eager to
be a part of the festivities, I grabbed a heavy broom from the kitchen closet
and went looking for a chicken. Slipping up behind a sweet hen, I knew she was
the right one. Lifting the broom high overhead, I struck her a horrific blow
breaking her back and causing a great deal of panicky squawking.
Daddy rushed out and, seeing her distress, finished off the poor thing. The preacher was not happy, and Momma for once didn’t rush to my defense. Archie and I bonded after that, though. Knowing my heart was in the right place, he took me into his bosom. I still think he would’ve made a fine brother-in-law.
THIS BOOK EARNED THE PINNACLE BOOK ACHIEVEMENT AWARD.
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