101509 004The middle one, Taft is my son who at birth weighed 10 pounds. He is now a gorgeous, outgoing, thoughtful, impulsive, charismatic, funny 6’5″  25 year old man. I love him so. He calls me his hero. God, he kept me running when he was a kid. His bicycle was an appendage of his body most of his youth. Riding around our Brookside neighborhood from morning to dinnertime. He drove his two older sisters batty and always found the hiding place for the Chips Ahoy and ate the week’s ration by Tuesday. While talking on the phone last night; he said he was driving while sleepy so that’s why he called. He had been to a U2 concert in Norman. Anyway he brought up the story about the baloney. He was about 4 and supposed to be dreaming of bicycles in bed, however, he came into the living room where my then boyfriend, Dan and I were sitting, watching Johnny Carson. I rarely had a man over when the kids were at home but for some reason that was a weird night. Anyway, Taft said, “mom I’m hungry.” Of course I told him to go back to bed. He somehow sneaked into the kitchen and came out with a piece of baloney. ( I can’t believe I bought baloney…except for the Chips Ahoy, I was sort of a health nut). Well Taft proceeded to bite 3 holes in the baloney. I tell him to get to bed now! Before I know it, Taft is within a couple yards of Dan and I, standing in front of the tv. He has his pointer finger in one of the baloney holes and starts spinning the floppy disk of processed meat around his finger. I didn’t know if I should grab the little delinquent by his waist and cart him back to bed or laugh my head off. Well the laughing stopped. The baloney gained momentum and flew through the air like a UFO and splat, lands right on Dan’s cheek. Taft and I freeze like statues. Dan lifts himself from the sofa and with a loud and angry voice states, “That’s it, I’ve had enough!” and storms out my front door and into his butterscotch colored Mercedes screeching out of my driveway. I think Taft and I are still statues at that point, until my body goes limp and runs to my room throwing myself on my bed. Taft comes running after me. I’m sorry Mom! I’m sorry I scared Dan away! I wipe away my tears and wrestle this little 4 yr. old monster in my arms while delivering him to his bed. I didn’t like Dan that much anyway.

The man to the left of Taft is Tom. He married my oldest daughter, Jenny.  And the other man is Caleb. He married my daughter, Grace. I’m sure both of their mothers have some stories of those two when they were little monsters too!


3 thoughts on “Baloney

  1. Wow – that’s hilarious. I hear all of these stories about how I was so rambunctious when I was a little kid and I certainly know how much of a punk I was in High School until I woke up and smelled the coffee. I guess manual labor, alternative school, summers in pennsylvania, a tough Mom and a good family got me back on the right track : ) Thanks for the opening comments – sounds like a good line from eHarmony.

    *boloney = bologna. I learned that from my second grade teacher Mrs. Henderson at Eliot. Remember her? She asked the class to draw a picture of our favorite person in the world and I drew a picture of her to suck up except I drew her with a black crayon (because she was black) and she chewed me out because her skin tone was brown and not ‘black’. I remember how much that hurt my feelings because I just wanted to make her happy and it didn’t seem to make sense. You ended up going up to the school the next day to let her know she was out of line!

    I’m done with this whole blog thing. For now.


  2. Thanks for coming to grannymountain the other day. I am so slow getting around to my comments these days, sorry. We live up in the northwest corner of Arkansas, close to Fayetteville. Greers Ferry Lake is down near the middle of the state. It’s a small world sometimes! I write about things I read or my family or just “stuff!” Come visit often…
    joy c.
    P.S. Loved the bologny story!

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