Fat Albert and the gang would have fit
in just fine on our farm where I grew up. Embarrassment followed me every time
the school bus dropped me off.
You see, a pile of junk, old metal, antique machinery, used tires, and other items Dad refused to send to the real junk pile way out in a field, set within a few yards of the one and only door to our farm house.
It resembled a Sanford and Son scene, only my dad wasn’t yelling, “Elizabeth, I’m coming to join you,” (ironically my grandma’s name was Elizabeth and she was the original lady of the house before Mom and Dad got married and moved in with her in 1944), but rather, it was my mom occasionally pestering Dad, “When are you going to clean up that junk?”
Finally, because of Mom’s support of my desire to host my high school graduation party at home and not 12 miles away in Hitchcock, Dad instructed my cousin Wilmer, our hired man at the time, to clean up that junk pile.
And man oh man, after Wil was done with it, the place could have been featured as one of those before and after scenes in a magazine.
No, Wilmer’s transformation did not include laying sod, constructing an arbor, or creating a Zen garden, but just the fact that it was gone and one could see the clothes line and the road, and appreciate the tall trees shading the old wash house made the entire place refreshed. I guess now we'd call it de-cluttering.
Mom and I expressed immense gratitude to Wilmer because it took him awhile to haul off all that junk.
Graduation night came. And so did the guests. It was a grand time. But the next week day when Wilmer reported for duty, he sure was mad. He said to my mom, his Aunt Stella, “It was a nice party, but nobody said anything about that junk pile being gone!”
You see, a pile of junk, old metal, antique machinery, used tires, and other items Dad refused to send to the real junk pile way out in a field, set within a few yards of the one and only door to our farm house.
It resembled a Sanford and Son scene, only my dad wasn’t yelling, “Elizabeth, I’m coming to join you,” (ironically my grandma’s name was Elizabeth and she was the original lady of the house before Mom and Dad got married and moved in with her in 1944), but rather, it was my mom occasionally pestering Dad, “When are you going to clean up that junk?”
Finally, because of Mom’s support of my desire to host my high school graduation party at home and not 12 miles away in Hitchcock, Dad instructed my cousin Wilmer, our hired man at the time, to clean up that junk pile.
And man oh man, after Wil was done with it, the place could have been featured as one of those before and after scenes in a magazine.
No, Wilmer’s transformation did not include laying sod, constructing an arbor, or creating a Zen garden, but just the fact that it was gone and one could see the clothes line and the road, and appreciate the tall trees shading the old wash house made the entire place refreshed. I guess now we'd call it de-cluttering.
Mom and I expressed immense gratitude to Wilmer because it took him awhile to haul off all that junk.
Graduation night came. And so did the guests. It was a grand time. But the next week day when Wilmer reported for duty, he sure was mad. He said to my mom, his Aunt Stella, “It was a nice party, but nobody said anything about that junk pile being gone!”
Author's Note: This was a tribute to my cousin
Wilmer who will be married for 50 years this November. Next week's post will be a
tribute to Elaine, his wife. Why post this now? We just had a family and
friends anniversary celebration this weekend in honor of their marriage.
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