Bubba and Boudreau were digging a ditch. It was hot. They were sweaty and miserable when they looked up and saw Boss Man sitting under a tree, drinking a cold beer with his arm around a girl. It made them furious.
“This just ain’t right!” Bubba said. “I’m gonna have it out with him.”
He jumped out of the ditch and stomped over to the boss demanding, “Hey, this ain’t right. How come we’re workin’ like dogs down in the ditch an’ your sittin’ up here in the shade with a girl drinkin’ a beer and makin’ the big bucks?”
“Coz I’m smarter than you. Here, I’ll prove it. Give me your shovel.” Boss Man stood up in front of the tree and held the shovel in front of his face. “Now, try to hit this shovel as hard as you can.”
Bubba balled up his fist and swung hard as he could. Just before he connected, Boss Man jumped back and Bubba hit the tree, full-force, busting up his hand.
“Now, that’s why I’m the boss!” Boss Man laughed.
Bubba stumbled back down in the ditch, nursing a broken hand.
“What did he say?” Boudreau asked.
“Lemme show you,” Boudreau replied. “Gimme your shovel.” He looked around, realizing there was no tree down in the ditch, so just held the shovel in front of his face. “Try to hit this shovel.”
I won’t bother to lie. That was me you saw on the side of that country road or on that old home place in the country digging up plants..and that little, bitty old lady you saw with me; that was my mama. She’s my look out and spotter. When arrested, I won’t even be able to claim the act was spontaneous, since I keep a nice little camping shovel and plastic bags under my truck seat especially for my thieving excursions. I’ll probably try to explain that Mother has Alzheimer’s and escaped from me, but that might not fly, since I’ll be the one out wading in the muck while she’s standing by the truck, but I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Just so you know, I’m not the only thief she raised. My sister, Connie makes raids just like I do. We both make sure to get enough to share, since it’s inevitable one of us will eventually get caught. Bud swears he won’t bail me out, but I suspect he’ll come get me when he gets hungry. Mother is on her own. She should have raised us better.
We had a lovely little backyard garden just before my son turned three. Everyday we’d tend it, eagerly checking the progress of the flowers, tomatoes, radishes, cucumbers, and one lone watermelon that had somehow volunteered. We weeded, watered, and discussed every day when our watermelon would be ready. John was Continue reading