As you remember, when I was young, we were very poor and lived in a refrigerator box. I told you about Sunday dinners and how I had some chores to do for those..
Have you ever seen a refrigerator box? It's like a shoe box, but as big as a refrigerator. Grandpa Dave had cut a door in one end so we could get in and out, but that was the only opening in it.
Having no openings, it was very dark in the dining room. We couldn't afford candles, so one of my chores on Sunday was to take a bucket outside, fill it with sunshine and bring it into the dining room. It took a lot of buckets of sunshine to fill the dining room, and the dining room was pretty far away from the door. You had to go out of the dining room, through the family room, down the hall to the vestibule* and out the door.
Did I mention that the refrigerator box was bigger on the inside than on the outside?
Anyway, it was lots of work. One Sunday, I had the dining room about a third full of sunshine, when Grandpa Dave walked in and felt sorry for me and all the work I had to do. He said, "What if I cut you a small door above the floor, so you can just reach outside, grab a bucket full, and dump it in here?"
I liked that idea a lot. So he did.
When he opened the little door, sunlight started spilling into the dining room and pretty soon, the room was full. I couldn't have been happier.
As we ate, bugs and wind came in, which we didn't like. Grandpa Dave put a sheet of glass over it to keep the wind and bugs out.
I said, "Hey! We can see out of it like we do our eyes, and it keeps the bugs out. Let's call it a bugeye."
Grandpa Dave said, "Bugs already have eyes. Let's call it a windeye... nah, that sounds odd. Window."
Pretty soon, our friends and neighbors saw how convenient it was not to have to carry sunshine into their dining rooms, and they put them in, too.
And today, everyone uses windows.
* In our family we have a ... well, not a tradition, probably more like a condition, of making up words. For years, the kids thought we'd made up the word "vestibule." One of them was astonished the first time he heard it from someone besides us. Heh!
Showing posts with label tall tales to tell children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tall tales to tell children. Show all posts
Friday, July 17, 2015
Wherein I lived in a refrigerator box as a child
One of the series of stories I enjoyed telling the kids was a set of tall tales about my youth. It involved violent incongruities to help exercise their imagination. Feel free to adapt this story by substituting names from your own family.
When I was very young, my family was quite poor, and for a while, we lived in a refrigerator box. It was from a fairly large refrigerator, so it wasn't so bad. It was kind of like living in the forts you guys make.
My room was upstairs to the right, and your uncle Tony's room was to the left. Our rooms were small, of course, being in a refrigerator box. There was only room for a bed, a small desk, and a chair.
On Sundays, we had a family dinner. Since we were very poor, it was usually something like Ramen or macaroni and cheese. Uncle Tony and I each had responsibilities to prepare for dinner.
Tony's job was to go to the china cabinet and get out all of the china and stemware for dinner. He'd put a dinner plate, a salad plate, and a soup bowl at each place, then put the crystal glasses out.
My job was to get out the silver and polish it before we ate. Of course, we had a salad fork, dinner fork, dessert fork, a knife, and a soup spoon, so it was lots of polishing.
The soup was vichyssoise - that's a fancy, cold potato soup. We were too poor for hot soup. The salad was dandelion greens, wild onions, and nasturtium petals. The nasturtium petals made it taste kind of peppery.
After dinner, we had to clear the table and carry all of that down the long hall, past the billiard room to the kitchen. We were too poor to have the kitchen next to the dining room. We had all those other rooms in the way.
Did I mention that the refrigerator box was bigger on the inside than on the outside?
Anyway, after supper, we had to wash the dishes and put the china and stemware and silver away. It was hard being that poor.
Next time, I'll tell you about one of Grandpa Dave's really neat inventions that people around the world use every day.
When I was very young, my family was quite poor, and for a while, we lived in a refrigerator box. It was from a fairly large refrigerator, so it wasn't so bad. It was kind of like living in the forts you guys make.
My room was upstairs to the right, and your uncle Tony's room was to the left. Our rooms were small, of course, being in a refrigerator box. There was only room for a bed, a small desk, and a chair.
On Sundays, we had a family dinner. Since we were very poor, it was usually something like Ramen or macaroni and cheese. Uncle Tony and I each had responsibilities to prepare for dinner.
Tony's job was to go to the china cabinet and get out all of the china and stemware for dinner. He'd put a dinner plate, a salad plate, and a soup bowl at each place, then put the crystal glasses out.
My job was to get out the silver and polish it before we ate. Of course, we had a salad fork, dinner fork, dessert fork, a knife, and a soup spoon, so it was lots of polishing.
The soup was vichyssoise - that's a fancy, cold potato soup. We were too poor for hot soup. The salad was dandelion greens, wild onions, and nasturtium petals. The nasturtium petals made it taste kind of peppery.
After dinner, we had to clear the table and carry all of that down the long hall, past the billiard room to the kitchen. We were too poor to have the kitchen next to the dining room. We had all those other rooms in the way.
Did I mention that the refrigerator box was bigger on the inside than on the outside?
Anyway, after supper, we had to wash the dishes and put the china and stemware and silver away. It was hard being that poor.
Next time, I'll tell you about one of Grandpa Dave's really neat inventions that people around the world use every day.
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Wherein I was in the Mexican jail
(A tall tale to tell children)
When I was in college in Houston, we used to take road trips down to Nuevo Laredo in Mexico. We'd shop for Mexican blankets, ugly pottery, and bullwhips.*
One day, I was down there wandering around through touristy shops looking for tchotchokes, when I looked out the door of the shop, and I saw some robbers coming out of a bank across the street. They had masks on and in one hand, they had a revolver. In the other hand, they had big sacks with large dollar signs on them. I'd seen this in cartoons, so I knew it was a real robbery.
As they ran out, I decided to follow them. I kept about a block behind, as they weaved in an out of alleys. After a while, they came to a police car parked in the shadows. They put the money in the trunk, took off their masks,** and put on their police uniforms. They were real, Mexican policemen!
Needless to say, I was outraged. I went up to them and said, "Hey! You guys are supposed to be the good guys - take that back right now!" Also needless to say, I didn't always think before I spoke. There might be a lesson there.
The leader said (use your best Mexican villain accent here), "Ay, stupid Gringo! No one will believe you over us. You are under arrest for loitering, vagrancy, and resisting arrest."
And they put me in jail.
Mexican jail is pretty boring. I didn't have money for bail - just 15 cents in my pocket (you must particularly remember the 15 cents, Best Beloved)***- so I sat there for a week. Each day for three meals a day, they gave me tortillas and re-fried beans. After the first day, I was tired of it, so I put the leftovers under my bunk.
Then, I had an idea. I took the tortillas and re-fried beans, and made a false wall on the back of my cell. I hid behind it, and when the guard brought the next meal, he thought I'd escaped. It was a beautiful false wall.
The guard shouted, "Hey, I think the Gringo has escaped!"
They all ran out to look for me. I waited until it was quiet, then I ate my way out. I went down the main street back to the bridge to Laredo. Heh. They thought I'd sneak down alleys.
The turnstile to get back into the US cost 15 cents, and I went home.
* The bullwhip plays a major part in other, true stories for another time.
** I advocate Oxford commas. Despite what the definition says, it's not optional.
*** Read Kipling's Just So Stories to your kids, too.
When I was in college in Houston, we used to take road trips down to Nuevo Laredo in Mexico. We'd shop for Mexican blankets, ugly pottery, and bullwhips.*
One day, I was down there wandering around through touristy shops looking for tchotchokes, when I looked out the door of the shop, and I saw some robbers coming out of a bank across the street. They had masks on and in one hand, they had a revolver. In the other hand, they had big sacks with large dollar signs on them. I'd seen this in cartoons, so I knew it was a real robbery.
As they ran out, I decided to follow them. I kept about a block behind, as they weaved in an out of alleys. After a while, they came to a police car parked in the shadows. They put the money in the trunk, took off their masks,** and put on their police uniforms. They were real, Mexican policemen!
Needless to say, I was outraged. I went up to them and said, "Hey! You guys are supposed to be the good guys - take that back right now!" Also needless to say, I didn't always think before I spoke. There might be a lesson there.
The leader said (use your best Mexican villain accent here), "Ay, stupid Gringo! No one will believe you over us. You are under arrest for loitering, vagrancy, and resisting arrest."
And they put me in jail.
Mexican jail is pretty boring. I didn't have money for bail - just 15 cents in my pocket (you must particularly remember the 15 cents, Best Beloved)***- so I sat there for a week. Each day for three meals a day, they gave me tortillas and re-fried beans. After the first day, I was tired of it, so I put the leftovers under my bunk.
Then, I had an idea. I took the tortillas and re-fried beans, and made a false wall on the back of my cell. I hid behind it, and when the guard brought the next meal, he thought I'd escaped. It was a beautiful false wall.
The guard shouted, "Hey, I think the Gringo has escaped!"
They all ran out to look for me. I waited until it was quiet, then I ate my way out. I went down the main street back to the bridge to Laredo. Heh. They thought I'd sneak down alleys.
The turnstile to get back into the US cost 15 cents, and I went home.
* The bullwhip plays a major part in other, true stories for another time.
** I advocate Oxford commas. Despite what the definition says, it's not optional.
*** Read Kipling's Just So Stories to your kids, too.
Tales to tell children
When my children and I were younger, we lived in Fairbanks, Alaska. One of the features of Fairbanks at that time was that there were not many activities available for children in the winter outside the house. So I lied to them a lot. People more inclined to blush than I call that telling stories.
We had many of the children's books that were available then, but the perennial darkness of the Alaskan night meant we also had lots of time. Frankly, I got tired of those books*, so I began to make up stories of my own to break the monotony. Some of them were moralizing stories exemplifying the effects of bad behavior. Some of them were outrageous tall tales, just for the joy of them. Some were adventure stories. Some were a bit of all three.
Sometimes the stories were very short and interspersed into the events of daily life as opposed to just being told at story time. Eventually, I realized that they may not always know that I was telling a story, so I had to tell them that they could always just ask, "Are you lying?" and I'd tell them if I were. Actually, that rule still holds.
In terms of popular culture, I live under a pretty big rock, but some things inevitably make their way into my consciousness. I'm sure that some of these stories resemble to an embarrassing degree things I've read or seen elsewhere. I was striving for entertainment for my young children rather than for originality. If I remember what influenced me, I'll try to credit that source. If you see a similarity that I don't note, I'll claim that it's an homage. Writers get away with that all the time, don't they?
I'm an engineer by training and by temperament, but according to my observations (and the painfully blunt comments of others), I'm not a standard engineer. People on each side of that line frequently look at me and say, "What the heck are you talking about?" So, you, Gentle Reader, won't be the only one to react that way. Just saying.
I never believed in talking down to my kids, "treating them like children" as they say. I like vocabulary; there's so much of it, it seems a shame to waste it. So I always tried to use words just a bit over their heads so they'd stretch for those words and learn them. They seemed to revel in that, and their friends did and still do ask why they use such big words. Oddly, one of those words was "apt" - not even big; just expressive. They've expanded their friends' vocabularies, too, so I count that as a win.
Words are the tools we use to build thoughts. If you were building a house and only had an adjustable wrench, you couldn't do as good a job as if you had a contractor's job box. Words give the same ease to building thoughts. Give your kids good tools.
Some of my kids have expressed an interest in my capturing those stories so they can tell them to their kids. I hope I do better finishing this project better than I did completing the trim in my wife's closet remodel.
I reserve the right to edit these stories as time goes on and as I remember better details.
* Except for Richard Scarry's I Am A Bunny. Whenever I come across that book somewhere, I look for a little kid to read it to. Not in a creepy way, though - no restraining orders to date.**
** First cultural credit: I shamelessly stole the asterisk footnote motif from 'Puter Gormogon. Go read his stuff. Srlsly. But you might not want to let the kids read it. He's salty.
We had many of the children's books that were available then, but the perennial darkness of the Alaskan night meant we also had lots of time. Frankly, I got tired of those books*, so I began to make up stories of my own to break the monotony. Some of them were moralizing stories exemplifying the effects of bad behavior. Some of them were outrageous tall tales, just for the joy of them. Some were adventure stories. Some were a bit of all three.
Sometimes the stories were very short and interspersed into the events of daily life as opposed to just being told at story time. Eventually, I realized that they may not always know that I was telling a story, so I had to tell them that they could always just ask, "Are you lying?" and I'd tell them if I were. Actually, that rule still holds.
In terms of popular culture, I live under a pretty big rock, but some things inevitably make their way into my consciousness. I'm sure that some of these stories resemble to an embarrassing degree things I've read or seen elsewhere. I was striving for entertainment for my young children rather than for originality. If I remember what influenced me, I'll try to credit that source. If you see a similarity that I don't note, I'll claim that it's an homage. Writers get away with that all the time, don't they?
I'm an engineer by training and by temperament, but according to my observations (and the painfully blunt comments of others), I'm not a standard engineer. People on each side of that line frequently look at me and say, "What the heck are you talking about?" So, you, Gentle Reader, won't be the only one to react that way. Just saying.
I never believed in talking down to my kids, "treating them like children" as they say. I like vocabulary; there's so much of it, it seems a shame to waste it. So I always tried to use words just a bit over their heads so they'd stretch for those words and learn them. They seemed to revel in that, and their friends did and still do ask why they use such big words. Oddly, one of those words was "apt" - not even big; just expressive. They've expanded their friends' vocabularies, too, so I count that as a win.
Words are the tools we use to build thoughts. If you were building a house and only had an adjustable wrench, you couldn't do as good a job as if you had a contractor's job box. Words give the same ease to building thoughts. Give your kids good tools.
Some of my kids have expressed an interest in my capturing those stories so they can tell them to their kids. I hope I do better finishing this project better than I did completing the trim in my wife's closet remodel.
I reserve the right to edit these stories as time goes on and as I remember better details.
* Except for Richard Scarry's I Am A Bunny. Whenever I come across that book somewhere, I look for a little kid to read it to. Not in a creepy way, though - no restraining orders to date.**
** First cultural credit: I shamelessly stole the asterisk footnote motif from 'Puter Gormogon. Go read his stuff. Srlsly. But you might not want to let the kids read it. He's salty.
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