Little Creek Of Pain To Little Race Of Pain (Part 4)

Admittedly, when I heard dad’s whistle I began to cuss. Cussing was an art form to us boys and I could hold my own with any of em’. Each of us had been homeschooled by some of the best. Our dads were cussing scholars. They could weave together a seamless run-on sentence placing correct obscenities in all the appropriate places.*

After belting out my short burst of masterfully chosen expletives, I evaluated my situation. I had three minutes to get home, a big knot over my black eye, several bloody wounds, no britches, my ribs were killing me, and I was in possession of dad’s wheelbarrow (which by itself would bring grave punishment)

Little Liars

Billy and I quickly formed our lies. The first idea was that we got into a fight. No that wouldn’t work because it wouldn’t explain my missing britches or the wheelbarrow. Also, my dad would be suspicious and maybe even angry at me if there were no marks on Billy at all. With so little time, we came up with what I think was a pretty good lie; I had fallen out of a tree. It was believable because I was always climbing trees. The limbs had torn off my clothes on the way down and would explain the injuries. Billy had the creative idea to say that I couldn’t walk and he had gotten the wheelbarrow, brought it back, and put me in it. So, after what was probably more than three minutes we came rolling up to the trailer.

Unexpected Empathy

It was a very good thing that my mom did not see our arrival. Even my dad showed some concern and I began my audition for the role of “half-dead boy.” But seeing dad’s concern, I was glowing inside knowing there was no way I would be punished. To my astonishment, dad picked me up, thanked Billy, and carried me inside. As we went through the door, I got a glimpse of Billy running away like a jackrabbit. He didn’t want to get cornered and asked questions that he didn’t have answers for.

Dad 1951

Dad sat me on the couch next to my baby brother Alan, got me a pair of underwear, and began to wash my wounds. I almost messed up and told him we had already washed the wounds with creekwater. It was a tiny trailer so I couldn’t help but notice mom was not there and if she had been she would have taken over my wound care. When I asked where she was, dad said she had walked to the grocery store. Mom didn’t drive and would never drive. For one thing, she couldn’t see over the steering wheel, but for a little woman under five feet, she could travel faster than a city bus!

Except for the knot over my eye, I was looking pretty good by the time mom got home. Dad relayed my story to her and I confirmed it. Mom began cooking because mothers respond to all crisis with food. My ribs were hurting but I certainly didn’t mention them. The last thing a boy wants is a trip to the doctor, not that I had ever been to a medical doctor. In fact, even with the mumps and dozens of injuries, including some stitches, my first trip to a real doctor was not until the fourth grade.

Planting The Seeds Of A Race

Things were pretty quiet until supper when dad brought up my running again. Apparently, he had set up a race between me and Big Jon. I found out why as he explained it to mom. The park and trailer where we lived belonged to Big Jon’s dad. Simply put, the explanation was: If I won the race we got a month’s free rent. If Big Jon won, his dad got a gallon of whisky, that homemade kind called moonshine. Normally this race thing wouldn’t be a problem even with a swelled up black eye and various other cuts and bruises, but the pain in my side hurt and was worse when I breathed. Should I tell them about my ribs? Life was getting tough for such a little boy. **

If you would like to read previous chapters click below.

*Being born in 1952, we (boys) grew up without any “political correctness”. We learned from and tried to emulate our fathers. In our social and economic situation, that included quite a bit of cursing which began at a very young age. Boys acquired what some call “street smarts” quickly.

**I will continue to admit that I do not remember every detail. I am filling in some blanks in order for the story to make sense.

The next chapter: “Having Some Broken Ribs And Whisky On Race Day”