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Browsing Tag: #stories
Yesterday morning I had a visitor to the office. I’ve known him since my earliest days at the Co-op, and I really enjoy our chats. We have those deep conversations that flow easily. Those come way too infrequently for my liking. Most people talk to brag, or talk to gossip, or talk to hear themselves talk. Not him. And it really touches my heart when he takes time out of his day to sit down for a spell. He’s a busy man. So we got to talking about how fortunate we are, and how we’re not thankful enough for what we’ve got. And, as our conversations invariably go, he got around to telling tales about his dad and his group of buddies. They were truly a redneck gang. They loved to play practical jokes on one another…sometimes even mildly dangerous ones. And ALWAYS ones that will make you late for whatever your next task will be. So he’s recounting some story about a notorious fishing trip and it made me think. There just aren’t friendships like that anymore. I have one friend I could call for anything. Annnnnyyyyything. We even had a code for in the event I killed my former husband. I have no doubt she would have come a-runnin’. There might have been more than one or two “oh shit”s uttered, but we would have taken care of…
I’m not doing the challenge provided (a family member you dislike) today. Instead, after prompting from the previous post, I’m going to tell you about the Puerto Rican on a Stick. My family used to be big. And even when it was big, we had more friends than we did family. I was quite old when I came to the realization that several members of my family weren’t family at all. Not by blood, not by marriage, not by nothin’ other than their proximity to us. One of these people is whom I lovingly refer to as the Puerto Rican on a Stick. I don’t know why I thought we were related. I guess because I always knew him. The story goes (what I can get out of anyone, at least) is that he became friends with my uncle Dale somehow, some way, back in the early 1970’s. He lived in New Orleans, so I don’t know how they met. He is very dark skinned, with jet black hair & eyes. Hence the “Puerto Rican”. But he’s not Puerto Rican. He’s Indian, I guess. I don’t honestly know. He had polio when he was very young, & now walks with canes attached to his forearms. Hence the “stick” part. Except to be correct, it should actually be sticks, but that’s not as funny…
