My Child is Nothing Like Me

Nothing at all...

That is why this post is so shocking!

Because I never cut Willis's hair on the bus when I was in 2nd grade.  And even if I did, it would have been because he was annoying and the older girl that got on at the last stop (who suffered from the dreaded disease hay fever and I was pretty sure that was a fate worse than death) told me to.  She was cool and quirky and lived with her grandparents and she was at the exalted age of at least 4th grade.  You can imagine the honor bestowed upon me when her exalted self sat next to me...

So Willis, for whatever reason, annoyed us.  I have no idea why, because in reflection I can only think of nice things about Willis...However, this cool older girl may have felt a hair cut would put him in his place.  And she may have decided that I was her perfect scapegoat.

She may have even brought her school scissors on the bus the next day...

And perhaps she could even have POSSIBLY convinced me to cut a big hunk out of the back of his hair, clear to the scalp...

Poor Willis.  I have no idea what the poor little guy could have done to incite our wrath...But he suffered mightily.

And if that would have ever happened to him (because I'm not saying I would have ever done such a shallow thing), let me assure you that he never ratted on me.

Clearly, I was a walk the line sort of child who never crossed even a little pinky toe over the rule barrier.

That is why it was completely inconceivable to the principal that I would punch Randy in the nose and bloody it during Red Rover...

But it wasn't my fault!

Here's how it REALLY went down:  We were playing Red Rover.  I had to hold Michael's (or was it Travis's?) hand...Whoever it was, the boy was my "boyfriend."  You know the scenario:  Do you love me?  Will you go out with me?  Check yes, no or maybe.  I checked "maybe" a lot...Perhaps because I needed to keep my suitors on a string, or perhaps because I didn't want to be responsible for broken hearts...Surely it was the broken heart thing.  I had LOTS of boyfriends in grade school...Only we never spoke or looked at each other or really even acknowledged each other's existence.  And we certainly never held hands!

Oh, the horror when I got called over and Michael/Travis/Jason held tight and I had to then stand next to them and hold hands...

That dumb boy Randy got such a kick out of mocking us about holding hands that I just pulled back and whopped him right in the nose...

Side Note:  My brother had taught me how to throw a real punch just the day before, as he noticed I was "hitting like a girl."  Thanks to David I was able to pull my arm back properly and throw my weight from the shoulder.  It was all fresh in my mind, you see.  Again, I am clearly lacking in any real fault in this whole sordid tale.

Randy was not as nice as Willis.  He was a tattle tale.  He went straight over to Mrs. Wyand and told her that I punched him in the nose.  Of course, she refused to let us all work it out on the playground.   I was pretty sure we could all just shake hands and apologize.  I mean, I was totally willing to forgive Randy's bratty behavior if he would just apologize for teasing me...

 But NoooOOOOoooo!  She insisted we go see the principal Mr. Heaton.  Mr. Heaton asked for Randy's side of the story which went like this:  I have no idea why she punched me.  She just did it.

Boys just aren't good at details.

Mr. Heaton then asked for my side of the tale, which went like this:  We were playing Red Rover.  I got called over and was caught.  He was teasing me for holding Michael/Travis/Jason/Shance's hand.  I told him to stop teasing me, but he just kept doing it.  I got mad and didn't know what else to do, so I just punched him in the nose!

Apparently my story seemed more believable to the honorable Mr. Heaton...

Randy got a spanking that day.

And I got off without so much as detention!

Gentle Reader, is that not wrong on so many levels it is not even funny?  Except it really is kinda funny...In a totally wrong sort of way, mind you!

Life lesson learned: Speak the truth and it will go well for you.  This lesson served me particularly well after I got my license and realized that the speed limit is really only a suggestion (click here to read all about that.)

Now that you've had the back story, I'm sure you will find it completely unbelievable that any child of mine would be called to the Principal's office for stabbing a child with a pencil on the bus. 

Only they called the wrong daughter to the office.  It seems that the little boy involved got his story mixed up and ratted out the wrong child, who then had to rat out her sister!

I learned about this little scenario as I walked into church Wednesday night from one of the teachers at school.

Teacher:  So, how is child who will remain unnamed? (we will call her Betty for the sake of this post)
Me:  Why?  Oh, you mean the Land Run thing?  Well, Brent took her home to get a change of clothes so he was a hero today.
Teacher:  No....(Long pause)  Apparently she stabbed a boy with a pencil on the bus.
Me:  WHAT!!!!
Teacher:  Well, I had (How about Veronica for another alias?  I love Archie!!!  Unless one is talking about their new stance on a certain topic that we will not get into on this post) Veronica in class today and she got called to the office.  She was gone for a little bit, came back, sat at her desk and a few minutes later had a hysterical meltdown.  I called her in the hall to talk, and apparently Betty stabbed a boy with a pencil on the bus.  Only he got confused and thought it was Veronica.  She was upset because she got called to the Principal's office, and then really upset because she had to tattle on her sister!  I told her that if Betty did it, then she needed to get in trouble....

I went straight to the choir room and sent Studmuffin a text:  Ask Betty about stabbing a boy with a pencil on the bus.  You see, Gentle Reader, we were having dress rehearsal for our Good Friday service and I was NOT waiting two hours to get home and find out what went down!

He replied that apparently the little boy was calling another child "gay."  The little boy being teased started crying.  Betty decided to seek vengeance (at the behest of an older girl) and stabbed him with a pencil.  He claims he had to go to the hospital to get the lead out, but for whatever reason, he didn't go to the principal with it for a few months...And according to my little innocent lambs there wasn't even lead in the pencil so he's obviously a liar...

And, my precious little angels proclaim that he KNEW that Betty did it, not Veronica, but he just wanted to get little miss perfect in trouble!

Strangely, I've heard nothing more of the stabbing incident.

But I did get to see the guilty child weep and hug her sister and apologize profusely for getting her sent to the office...And I got to see the innocent child (who had not mentioned a word of this to anyone, and wasn't going to) hug her sister,weeping right along with her, say "I'm just glad you didn't get kicked out of school!"

Me too, dear child.  Me too.

Tune in tomorrow to learn all about my visits to the office in high school!  

John Deere Green

I was driving home from work today and I saw a tractor. I suddenly had a flash of driving Dad's John Deere 70 tractor. It had no cab. I never got to drive it when it had a shade. I don't know if we never owned one, or if I just fell into the time frame when it was worn out from heat, rain and Oklahoma Wind.

We had a heavy four wheel drive Case tractor at that time. It packed the earth too hard for drilling so we used the 70 when my Grandad's tractor was otherwise engaged for drilling. I also got the privilege of using it for spraying and using the spreader.

Have I ever told you that Dad very seldom gave me orders. Every morning while I ate breakfast he would list the things he planned to "let" me do that day. That was his exact words. "Andi, today I'm going to let you drive the tractor." I never dared to say "No thanks, I think I'll go to the lake today instead."

But, back to tractor driving....The spreader was a simple implement that you simply hooked on to the tractor, filled with fertilizer pellets, and as you drove it sprayed the pellets onto the soil. Basically the same as the spreader you find at Home Depot to fertilize your lawn. Only bigger.

Anyhoo, I actually enjoyed the 70. You felt like you were driving really fast because you got to feel the wind in your face and you had to continuously move the steering wheel to keep it on track (picture how little kids pretend to steer and that was the reality with our 70.) Mind you I was probably only going MAYBE 10 mph, but it was all in the perception. I can remember bebopping along and singing at the top of my lungs "She thinks my tractor's sexy...It really turns her on....She always smilin' at me...While I'm chuggin' along." Or how about, "You can set my truck on fire, or roll it down the hill, but I still wouldn't trade it for a Coup deVille. It's got an 8 ft bed that never has to be made, you know if it weren't for trucks they wouldn't have tail gates..." Or maybe even "You know a dream is like a river...Ever changing as it goes..."

Okay...I'm done with our musical interlude.

Remember my previous mentions that I had a tendency to....ummm....well....

What was I talking about?

Oh yeah....I would lose track of what I was supposed to be doing.

Well, one time I was fertilizing the field a mile north of my parents house. I'm guessing it was a quarter section, which thanks to Studmuffin I can translate for you to 160 acres. It was actually a flat field with no terraces.This is very unusual for the Panhandle of Oklahoma. Since there were no terraces I was able to drive around in great big circles...Eventually I would get a feel for how far apart my tire tracks needed to be so that I had maximum coverage, but did not spend all of my time looking behind me to make sure I was covering well. I guess you could say I eventually guesstimated it. Well, this particular time, I was dancing along, standing up (the seat got sweaty after awhile, and that lead to uncomfortable sweaty-booty itchiness. You understand, I'm sure) singing at the top of my lungs when suddenly...

What the heck?

What is that?

Where did it come from?

Did we have another spreader parked in the field?

No, Gentle Reader, of course we didn't. Apparently I had failed to look behind me for quite a while. An entire circle's worth to be exact. At some point my pin had shook out of the hitch, the spreader came unhooked, and the spreader stayed put....

While I continued blithely along, completely ignorant of the fact that I was just driving around in a circle...

Accomplishing nothing.

I quickly pulled up to it, rehitched (I think I ran around frantically looking for the hitch pin, lest I get yet another lecture on inattentiveness) and completed the job.

Never to mention the whole debacle to my parents.

Until my Dad told me about using the spreader one night when it was late. It seems it got dark before he finished, so he was using the headlights to judge the distance between tire tracks....He was driving along, and suddenly the spreader was right in front of him. He decided it was apparently too dark to finish farming that night and called it a day.

I think it runs in the family.

More driving adventures for your entertainment and my humiliation

We started driving young on the farm. I can remember driving the pickup while my dad scattered hay, or sacks of cake off the back of the feed wagon long before my feet could reach the pedals. We also all learned to drive standards. My dad was a very patient man.

The first time I drove the tractor all by myself I was probably about 12. My dad drove me to the field, 2 miles from our house, made one circle with me, then said he'd be back to pick me up in time for dinner. Then he left me. With no cell phone. No CB radio. Nada. Alone. Just me and a ginormous tractor and an entire field of dirt that needed turned so we could drill wheat.

I cried. Seriously. I was so scared I was doing it wrong. I was afraid I would mess something up. I hadn't dared to tell my dad I was scared. I didn't want him to think I was a baby or anything. After all, I was 12 years old! Practically an adult! So...I cried....For about 15 minutes. Then, I realized....It was kind of fun! And it's not rocket science! You drive around in circles, one terrace at a time, then finish out your corners, and move to the next terrace. And it's not like I hadn't been raised riding the tractor with my dad while my mom worked. I had really been "driving" the tractor my entire life. Just never alone. And dad thought I was grown up enough to do it all by myself! Imagine that!

Dad came and picked me up in time for dinner. He went on and on about what a great job I did, and how much I got done, and how proud he was. I was so proud I could burst. I loved driving the tractor.

Until I hated it. You see, driving the tractor is just what I said...driving in circles. While trying in vain to pick up a radio station. You quickly learn every single country song they are playing. Then you learn to sing the harmony for every country song they play. Then you start counting how many animals you scare up...rabbits, quail, snakes...whatever. You count the hawks and vultures circling the skies. Then you run out of diversions.... Yep, eventually, I hated driving that tractor. But at 12? I loved it. I thought I was the smartest, best tractor driver in the world.

I also thought I was a great feed wagon driver. This was about the time my oldest sister Dawn had my niece Sarah. Sarah was just about 6 months old. I know her age, because my grandparents were spending their summer in Laughlin, (sp?) Nevada, and it was my job to keep Grandma's plants alive while they were gone. I loved being an aunt. I wanted to spend every spare second with that cute little baby. I hated that I had chores that took me a whole 3 miles away and kept me from being with my precious niece. So, I was in a hurry. At 13 years old. Driving down dirt roads in a feed wagon (this is a pickup, usually 4 wheel drive, with a flat bed put on it, and a feed bin that has a spout on it so you can pour feed out to your cattle. This solves the problem of needing one person to pour cake out of the sack while another drives.)

Did I mention I was in a hurry? Well, I was. I was driving that old pickup as hard as it could go back to my parents. I hit a sandy spot. I slammed on my brakes. I went into a skid, and slid down an embankment, landing the pickup on it's driver's side.

There was a terrible rumbling sound. I shut off the key. The rumbling continued. I panicked. Oh no! It was going to blow! I stood on my door, rolled down the passenger window (by hand of course) clamored out, and took off running. I got a ways away, and realized: Oh no! The rumbling sound was the feed! My knee must have hit the switch on the dash when I wrecked! Dad will kill me if I waste all of the feed! I ran back, climbed in, turned OFF the switch, climbed back out, and took off running again. I cut through a field to shave off some time. Did I mention I was in a panic? Why I felt the need to RUN the entire mile or so home is a mystery. Through uneven fields with shoots of feed coming up. In my cowboy boots I ran. Never pausing. Through the yard. To the front door. I burst through the door where Mom, Dawn, and Les are sitting, having a chat.

"I WRECKED THE PICKUP!" I gasp out with tears on my face, panting and sweating, and....panicking. Dawn is nearest to me. She jumps up to see if I'm okay. Mom stands up and begins to bear down on me. I cringed behind Dawn, sure wrath is about to be poured out on me.....

Mom walks right past me, out the door, gets in the car and drives to check on the pickup!

What the......?

Apparently, Mom got just out of the driveway, turned to Les (who of course jumped in the car with her) and said "What is wrong with me? I didn't even ask if she was okay! Well, I guess she's fine, she walked home." She proceeded to go see about the pickup.

I was fine. Just some glass in my hair and a small sliver in my hand. Dawn patched me up before she left with them again. They had gotten the tractor to go right the pickup and see if it was drivable.

Guess who called?

Dad.

I answer the phone. "Hi, Andi! How are you?"

"Fine." It was the truth.

"Is your sister still there?"

"They haven't left for home yet." Still dodging details.

"Can I talk to her? I wanted to know if they would be there when I get home from checking wells."

"They're not here." Give as little information as possible.

"I thought you said they were?"

"They had to go somewhere with Mom." Evade. Evade. Evade.

"Where did they go?"

"THEY WENT TO CHECK ON THE PICKUP BECAUSE I HIT A SANDY SPOT ON MY WAY HOME FROM GRANDMA'S AND I WRECKED THE PICKUP!"

Silence. Just for a moment. Then, "Are you okay?"

I burst into tears. Again. Apparently there were lots of tears in my life at this point. "I'm fine." I stutter out.

"Good. I'm sure it will be okay. I'll see you later!"

And that was that. Not another word was said to me about the wreck. Bless my parents and their self control. No nagging. no lectures.

I used to wonder why I never got in trouble for driving too fast down dirt roads. Not paying attention to my surroundings. Not being more careful.....Then one day I realized something...

Many years later, of course....

I WAS 13 YEARS OLD! What, exactly, do you say to your 13 year old daughter that you let drive all over the county checking cattle, watering her grandma's yard, driving back and forth from the field......What do you say to that? You're not going to take away the keys. Then she couldn't do all of the work that had to be done!

Now, years later, people have attempted to tease me about the wreck. I calmly reply....
"I WAS 13 YEARS OLD! WHAT DID YOU PEOPLE EXPECT?!"

Apparently the penchant for drama is not completely gone. But at least I don't burst into tears! Hey! Progress is progress!