The kids met Bud at the door with their complaint. “Mama’s making us do work?”Abuse was written al over their tragic faces. Bud was all sympathy. “Oh no! Why in the world would she do such thing?
They poured their collective hearts out between sniffles. “Mama told us to go out and play. Then we got in a fight. I have to vacuum the living room and Sister has to fold washcloths. She won’t let us go play till we get through.”
” We’ll, everybody has to work. I work. Mama works. You need to help out.” Bud explained. Hurry up and get through then ask Mama if you can go out.”
”But I don’t like to work.” They wailed.
Bud picked up the hobby of Smithing about the time he retired. Being a frugal sort, he has cobbled his forge out of scraps and junk. The only part he bought was an old blower he picked up for fifty dollars at a flea market. Previous to that acquisition, he used my old hairdryer. He talked his brother-in-law out of a cart from his trash heap. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. The wheels were scavenged from a broken fertilizer spreader, the fire pan from a discarded barbecue pit. He uses old barbecue tongs to move coal around. The long-handled dipper started life as a bean can and is wrapped with soft steel wire. With a couple of holes in the bottom, he can either sprinkle or pour water. Another brother-in-law gave him a broken vise which he repaired, using junk, and mounted on the cart. He has made many useful and decorative items, including kitchen knives and an umbrella stand to hang six baskets of flowers. He’s also made many punches and chisels.
Left: Blade is made of high carbon steel. He was making this one for himself, but I claimed it.
Right: Blade is made of an old file. This is the first one he made and has been used heavily.
Both are wickedly sharp. These can not go in dishwasher. They are my favorite knives. I always reach for them first.
Before I throw anything out, I have to leave it for Bud’s inspection. He has snagged an electric kettle , an old electric iron, and and old rotisserie. He used the rotisserie motor and gears to build a device to rotate items at 6 rpms a minute to keep epoxy from pooling and dripping as it dries. It comes in handy for making flies.
Daddy took pride in being strict. “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” He was certainly never accused of spoiling the child. Many times I heard him say there wasn’t a kid or an animal he couldn’t conquer. During his hog-hunting days he acquired a hog-dog he was incredibly proud of. Sutter was a black lab/Catahoula Cur mix. When sicced on a herd of hogs, Sutter plunged in and fearlessly latched onto the hog’s ear not to be dislodged until the hunter dispatched the hog. The poor hog couldn’t slash Sutter as long as he hung on to the ear. The dog was in the greatest danger of being bitten as he rushed the hog. Hog-hunting was dangerous for men and dogs. I’ve seen Daddy stitch his cut dogs a few times. He required stitches a time or two, but splurged on a doctor for himself.
Sutter worked cows with Daddy. One day, he chased a calf and pinned it to the ground where he held it by a mangled ear. Expecting a kill, he wouldn’t release it. Daddy pulled him off the calf, tied him off to a small sapling, and pulled off his belt to strap to him. He got a couple of licks in before Sutter changed his belief system. The enlarged dog ran Daddy up the sapling where he clung just out of the dog’s reach. At six-foot three and two hundred forty pounds, Daddy was imposing on the tree. It dipped from one side to the other as Daddy bounced side-to-side just beyond the snarling dog’s jaws. I wondered if somebody would have to shoot Daddy if Sutter latched onto his ear. After a few minutes, Sutter’s temper cooled and he wagged his tail when Daddy spoke to him. Daddy climbed down when Sutter seemed to have forgiven him.
Sitter was a very valuable dog. Instead of shooting him as I expected, Daddy took the reasonable attitude that he’d handled things badly. He and Sutter worked it out and the dog concentrated on hogs from that time forward.
Maybe I should have run Daddy up a tree.
Stop now if you are easily offended. Contains adult content!
We all have different parenting styles.
I overheard a hilarious phone conversation a furious friend and co-worker had with her teenage daughter at work one day. (repeated verbatim)
“Kaylee, You been gittin’ in my drawers!”
“Yes you have! I can tell you been diggin’ around in there! Them’s f___ing panties! Is you f____ing!”
She slammed the phone down. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with that little ‘ho! I can’t keep her out of my f___ing panties”
I was rolling on the floor, laughing.
My nine-year-old daughter called me at work one weeknight asking permission to sleepover with a friend. The question was a formality, since she knew the answer. No week night sleepovers. I hadn’t met or spoken to parent. A doctor was listening when I got message my daughter called. He could only hear my end of conversation. After her request for permission, I merely said, “No, her mother is a child molester and her father is a murderer.” I hung up and went back to work. “What the Hell was that?” He asked. “Oh, my daughter wanted to sleepover at the neighbor’s”. He spewed coffee on his chart
We had a family meeting and Daddy said we were going to have to start helping Mother just because she was having a baby. He tried to make it sound like something great. I wanted to tell him I didn’t want a baby or chores, but was smart enough to keep my mouth shut. I had to dust, set the table, and fold towels. I would be glad when Mother had that Continue reading