Some say our generation has lost out on traditional storytelling. Instead of sitting on the front porch or around the dinner table sharing stories, we're in front of the television watching someone else's story, which is probably far less interesting than our own. When I go home to Dwarf, I am taken back to a place where time stands still, where the front porch is exactly the place to be!
Telling of tales is one of my favorite things about going home. I like to listen to my Mommaw talk about eating her first graham cracker and how she can remember just the way it tasted. I like to hear about the time she accidentally took a swig of Frank Mowdry's Fresca, thinking it was hers--it was full of whiskey, but that wasn't any worse than the fact that Frank's lips had been on the very spot her lips were now. I like hearing about Papaw's days of driving the hearse for Engle Brothers' Funeral Home, and how he got a speeding ticket while he was hauling a body from Breathitt County, and how the officer got smart with him, "That ole boy don't look like he's in no hurry." Or what about the time Pap stopped to get him a burger and the proprietor of the Dairy Bar quickly gave him his food and politely told him to hit the road, "And get that hearse out of my parking lot!"
The best part about hearing these stories is listening to the storytellers themselves. Be it Uncle Glenn re-enacting Uncle Roy's battle to free himself from his coveralls when the pain in his stomach hit or Mommaw imitating Aunt Eunice's jaunt down Flat Mary Rd when her bra straps gave out! They get tickled and can hardly tell the story!
I particularly enjoy the way Mommaw, when telling a story, says words she would otherwise never say. I mean bad words, friends. It is okay to say these words because it's not really her saying them; the narrator or character in the story is saying the bad words. However, let the record show t
hat Mommaw did say, "bitching" last Christmas of her own volition.
With these stories, we're able to keep our family alive. Every time I go home, someone tells a story about Papaw or Aunt Eunice. I'll always remember the family members who have passed not only from the way they touched my life directly but indirectly through family stories. I never met my great grandpa, Pa Jim, but from stories, I know he's where my Mommaw and Aunt Eunice get their sense of humor.
I don't want to lose these stories. I want to always remember them and share them with my children, who will never get the opportunity to know their Great Grandpa (my Papaw), but they'll just the same sing his songs, because I will sing them and thus, they will know their Pap, "Had a little mule and his name was cow, put him in the barn, but he didn't know how."
I have eaten far too many tootsie rolls in the past 48 hours. It must stop. Why are they so delicious? Tootsie rolls, tootsie pops, flavored tootsie rolls! Yes, please!
The gravestones of Godzilla's enemies:
The Godzilla-off ends when Marc finds a piece of candy on the ground, "Is this fresh?"
