My earliest memory is of living in a house in the Sandhills. We moved from there when I was 3. But I remember the layout of the house. That the yard was fenced. How the outbuildings were in relation to the house and I remember my trike. I loved my trike and I rode it all over. I have several memories of that house. I spent a lot of time at the barn with my Dad.
One time I remember wanting to go into the barn but, PAINT, our Shetland pony was standing right in the middle of the barn door and I couldn't get in and he wouldn't budge. So....I picked up a pitch fork and poked him in the behind. He kicked me right in the bread basket. It was a world of swift and harsh lessons out there in the barn.
I remember getting my mouth washed out with soap. More than once. I might as well go ahead and tell you that I was a cusser. A bad, bad cusser. Yep...another barn lesson. I loved being around the men and when men work cattle there will often be some cussing. I will interject that John is not a cusser and cattle do not bring out the worst in him. Machinery, however is another story....still, he is not likely to cuss. I like that about him.
Back to my foul mouth. Do you remember that I was only 3? Well, I am sure it was cute (?) for awhile but a time came when my Mom had about enough of that. She chose the ole "washing out the mouth with soap" punishment. I do think I remember the Lava....but she says that it wasn't until she used Prell shampoo that I had a change of heart....and behavior.
I am not a cusser now. I do say "DINGLE DANGLE" a lot and "CRUM" and sometimes I pretend to be a cusser. But mostly that bent in my personality was shampooed right out of me at 3 years old. I will say that I had a relapse when I was about 10....again in the barn, only we lived at Merna. My cousins were there and I am not sure what precipitated the incident but I strung a really impressive and very long line of cuss words together that stopped everyone in their tracks and made them laugh. I wasn't mad. I was showing off. I hope none of them turned into cussers that day. If so....I apologize and may I suggest Prell shampoo. Rinse and repeat.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
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1 comment:
Mothers. Be afraid. I was a closet cusser growing up - until I went to college. And even then, I never cussed around my mother. Like you, I'm no longer a cusser. The only time I remember letting a cussword slip around my mother was in the cow corral. An old cow was on the take and I was an easy target standing in the middle of the corral. As I sidestepped her charge and conked her over the head with a hefty stick I questioned her parentage. Even then after I realized that I had actually said "that word" out loud, I was more afraid of my mother than that old cow.
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