Friday, May 28, 2010

THOSE POOR GIRLS

I made the mistake of stopping by the house I grew up in back at Christmas, just for kicks.
Two little girls answered the door. I asked to speak to their dad. He came to the door, a humorless, mean, stout looking man with no expression on his face at all. He dfidn't exactly refuse to shake my hand, he just left me hanging.
Told him my story, how I'd grown up in this house.
"I planted that Redbud tree there" as I tuned to point to a huge tree in the center of his yard "It was a foot tall back in 71, had only one leaf!"
All I got was a blank stare.
"I love what you have done with the flower beds here, really nice!" I said, and gave him my best smile.
His frown deepened and he looked past me as if searching for my accomplice or perhaps a police officer he might flag down.
I mentioned how the front doorway looked great, there were new doors...
Admired the brick mailbox, asked had he done it himself.
He shook his head no and continued to stare me down.
Finally as I turned to leave, I asked if his girls went to Shady Oaks Elementary where I had gone to school so many years ago...
"No, we home school them" he says.
That explained everything.
Those poor girls.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Jeez. I often thought of going back to visit my old homestead, but if that's the kind of reception I can expect to get, forget it. People who home school their kids always remind me of the old saying "The man who serves as his own attorney has a fool for a client." Not that I have a high estimation of the stuff to be learned in school, public or private. Still.

UF Mike

Jaye Ramsey Sutter said...

Jesus wept.