Two Bits From My Past

I spent the winter in Florida.  During my time there I had the opportunity to meet with my cousin, Gene, on a couple of occasions.  He has a Florida home too.  If you are an avid reader of my blog, you know that Gene is AKA Woody.  We did a lot of reminiscing.   Here are a couple of  stories from our childhood.   While I don’t wish for these to be written on my tombstone, I hope you can handle the truth and don’t think less of either of us because of these revelations.

In no particular order of significance, I give you:

The Great Cat Caper

My Grandma Barner, my mom’s mom, died at the young age of fifty-eight.   My grandfather became a widower at fifty-nine.  After an appropriate time for grieving, Grandpa Barner started dating and about three years later he remarried.  He married, Virginia, who had been a family friend for many years.  Virginia’s parents lived in Bowling Green, Kentucky.  Her parents had a one-bedroom apartment in their home that they rented to my Grandpa Barner’s mother for several years.   That’s the key reason that the two families knew each other.

I was thirteen and Gene was seventeen when Harrison and Virginia married.   One day shortly after the wedding, we were at my grandparent’s house when my mom and Gene’s mom, my Aunt Ruth, decided to play a trick on my grandfather and his new bride.  They short sheeted the wedding bed.   I never understood the trill of short sheeting someone’s bed, but they thought it was great fun.

My Aunt Ruth decided to spice things up a bit so she rolled peanut butter into little balls and put the peanut butter balls into my grandpa’s underwear.  The idea was to … well you get the idea.  Peanut butter balls in your underwear could be cause for a surprise.

Gene and I watched and decided that we should develop a surprise of our own.  We didn’t know what we were going to do, but we were determined to join in the fun.  We got into Gene’s car and started to drive the alley’s of Detroit looking for an inspiration.  It didn’t take long to discover our surprise and develop a plan.  We found a large white Angora cat tied to a post in a backyard.  Gene kept the car running.  I opened the gate to the yard, untied the cat, grabbed it and jumped into the car.  Gene drove off.

When we got back to the house we snuck into our grandparent’s bedroom, tied the cat under the bed, and left just enough rope so the cat could crawl around under the bed without exposing itself.  Pure genius.

While we weren’t around to witness the big surprise, when my grandparents went to bed that night the cat began to meow.  I don’t know that they identified the source of the meowing immediately, but I do know that they did eventually.   The next day we received a telephone call and returned to the house to fetch the cat.  We returned to the scene of the crime, replaced the cat, and the caper was over.

I know the two of us have continued to celebrate the great cat caper long after the sheets were returned to their normal length and the last peanut butter ball had been discovered.

 

Speaking of Bathrooms

This next tale is a bit embarrassing.  But it’s the truth.

Our extended family had a lot of gatherings.  We celebrated everything.  Every time someone had a birthday we got together for cake and ice cream.   While preparing for a trip to my Aunt Ruth and Uncle Harry’s (Gene’s parents) for somebody’s something, I discovered that I didn’t have any clean underwear.  I told my mom and she gave me a pair of hers to wear.  I was about five and in the time it takes to say “holy cow” I became America’s youngest cross-dresser.  I don’t remember much about my new wears, and perhaps I wouldn’t have remembered anything at all if it weren’t for my cousin, Gene.

I didn’t question my mom.   Looking back I could have just dressed commando style that day, or perhaps flipped a pair of my about to be laundered drawers and worn them inside out.  But I didn’t.   I did as I was told.

After arriving at my aunt and uncle’s house I needed to go to the bathroom.  I had to go “number two” which required sitting down on the toilet.

Nine-year-old Gene was occupying the bathroom, but he invited me to join him.  As he was washing his hands and preparing to depart, I dropped my pants and took a seat.  (We were close cousins and about to get closer.)  He noted that I was wearing pink underwear and asked where I got them.   I told him the story of my laundry dilemma and my mom’s directive to put on a pair of hers.  He started to laugh.  About the time he started laughing his dad, my Uncle Harry, knocked on the door.  Seems he had to use the bathroom too.  Gene invited him in.  Our bathroom crowd was getting bigger as each moment passed.

My uncle had poor eyesight and wore thick glasses to help him see.  He may not even have noticed the pink panties if Gene hadn’t pointed them out.  But he did.  So we had a five-year old sitting on the toilet wearing a pair of his mother’s underwear, his nine-year old cousin laughing at his miss-fortune, and the cousin’s thirty-something dad joining in the laugh fest at the five-year old’s expense.

Throughout the remainder of my life I have made sure that no one saw my underwear unless I deemed it appropriate.  I also took a private vow that I would never wear ladies underwear again.  So far so good.