Folklore Cavalcade with your Pal, Ian: 2007-02-11

Boy howdy! Some of you know how to spin a yarn. What we have here ventures from anecdotes to goth masterpieces. I have a feeling there are aspiring writers out there: I also have the feeling that there are aspiring barflies. I bid you all well. But read through, and they are all interesting. It's equally neat to see that some stories have titles (i.e. the tellers title them in some sort of metonymic device), while others have stage directions. Some are allegorical (see the 'little frog' story, some are family legend, one explicitly has a moral, and several are surprisingly confessional.

A dull thud sounds as the corpse falls to the ground, it's blood soaking into the parched earth.
No one is there to witness it's last gasping breaths as Death comes to claim her prize.
"Anyone, anyone there?" It gasps weakly, coughing up crimson liquid.
And then, letting go of it's panicked grasp on life, it falls softly into the blind peace of death.
Still, no one appears to give any last respects.
The corpse is left to rot, unnoticed by the rushed world surrounding it.
The body becoming part of the earth once more, as the soul escapes into eternity.
Memories of torture slowly fading into the darkness, never to return.
Everlasting bliss as all worry is washed away into nothingness.
Free...
That is what it is now.
Free of pain, heartache, sorrow, anger, happiness, hate, love.
Free.

Hey remember when Paul and I used to drive you crazy playing soccer. We used to go out every day one summer and play from dawn to dusk. I know you used to hate it because we would use you as our tackling dummy. We would always play the ball intentionally right to you so that we could practice our slide tackling. You didn’t like it but you have to admit that it toughened you up and improved your skills. At the beginning of the summer you would start crying after one tackle but by the end it would take us two or three tackles before we got you. I remember Paul and I trying to bribe you when you did start crying. We didn’t want to get in trouble so we would fetch you ice cream and chips just so you would not tell on us. We could not hide that one time though. We both tackled you at the same time and you got a gash on your shin. Paul and I tried to patch you up and to your credit you did not tell on us. I guess your white socks slowly turning red gave it away to the parents. You ended up having to get six stitches and Paul and I got in so much trouble. The next day though the three of us were back outside playing again. I love looking back and remembering those times. It turned out to be the last summer we all hung out together. We moved to Canada in August and Paul stayed in Malawi. That is part of growing up though. Since then we have led our own lives. In the past few years I have been off at university and you will soon be moving to England. Maybe one day we will both get to go back to Malawi and meet up with Paul and reminisce, maybe not. Regardless of what happens I will never forget that summer…some of the best slide tackles of my career!!

Farmer and snack

In a very cold winter there was a farmer. He finished his work and went back home. When he walked through an alley he looked something on the grass. He approximated and looked around. Oh, he found a snake. The snack was cold; it was like a ice-lolly. It was very pathetic. The farmer said: “poor snack, I knew you were very cold. Let me gave you warm.” then put the snake into his clothes and kept walking to home. In the clothes there were warmer. The Snake warm, regained consciousness little by little, the snack was regained its natural instinct and bite its benefactor, the farmer was suffered a fatal injury. He was poisoning. Before dying, a farmer, said: “I never have, I pity villains, we should be evil.”

That story told us we should not pity the bad guy or evil people. Sometime you safe them and they will bite you back.

A little background before I get to the stories, they are really short, so I opted to tell more than one. Gramps tells the best stories, and I always say I need to write them down, I took this opportunity to do so.

There was an old fella who lived over in George’s River, once a week he walked to North Sydney to go to the bank and get some groceries. Once this day he was walk back and he met the old priest from Boisdale who was walking down the road muttering to himself. The old fella stopped the priest and said “Father what is wrong with you today, it’s not like you to be going around talking to yourself”. The priest said, “some young gaffer stole my bike and I now I can’t get around to do my visiting,” the old fella thought for a second and he said to the priest, “Father, what you need to do is at mass on Sunday you need to preach the Ten Commandments, when you get to ‘Thou Shall Not Steal’ really emphasize that Father, and I am sure the fella who stole your bike will feel guilty and return it.”

The following Sunday the priest gave the sermon, but didn’t seem to emphasize “Thou Shall Not Steal”, so the old guy stopped the priest on the way out of church and said, “Father what happened, why didn’t you stress about the stealing?” The priest said to the old guy, “I was giving the sermon and I got to thou shall not covet thy neighbours wife, and I remembered where I left my bike.”

There was a Boisdale who worked on the train, one day he was walking to work and about half way there he took a “spell” sat down for a few minutes and decided he’d better go home and go to bed for the day. When got home, he took his boots off in the kitchen and walked upstairs, in his bed he found a man with his wife! He was so enraged he took the shot gun and killed them both. He went over to the next door neighbours to tell his friend what had happened, now this friend was famous for saying “well, it could be worse.” If someone said “oh it’s pouring buckets today”, he’d say, “well it could be worse, it could be a nor’easter”, or someone would say, “oh my mother fell and sprained her ankle today,” he’d say, “well it could be worse, she could have broken her hip.”

So the fella who shot his wife is telling this neighbour all about the events of the day. When the story is all done, the neighbour looks at the man and says “well ya know it could be worse,” and the man says, “how the hell could it get any worse? I shot my wife and another man, tell me how can it get any worse?????” and the neighbour says, “could have been worse, if it was yesterday, it would have been me.”

There is a frog, tiny tiny frog. She grows up by her kind parents in a small village.
As she grew up, she started to think that she wanted to know more about something. And then, she decided to go to elementary school. She learned how to communicate with her friends.

She enjoyed school life, but she is so curious about the outside world from the small village. So, she decided to go university in another city. This was the first time for her to go outside the village. Everything was different from the village. She was overwhelmed a little bit, but she was getting used to its life. It was also first time for her to live alone. She learned many things, such as cooking, washing, cleaning, and especially she started to appreciate her parents.

The curious frog started to think that she wanted to know more and more. She decided to go abroad to study another language. She had no idea how much different from her world. Of course, she had anxiety, but she has already decided to go. It is challenge for her. What is waiting for her? Is it so tough thing or so happy thing? She believe she will be able to know many things from the study abroad.
She goes to the abroad with a lot of hope and dream.

One day a sister and brother were sitting in the kitchen and there was an ironing board and an iron set up beside them. The older sister thought she would play a trick on her younger brother, so she told him to kiss the little boy that they could see in the reflection on the iron. The little brother, thinking that his sister wouldn't do something mean to him, leaned over and kissed the hot iron. His lips were burnt for a week and his big sister was grounded for even longer!

It was a mid summers day of 1999 where two kids were playing in the trees. Jordan was hanging upside down from the branches as he jokes with his friend Lila about what it would be like to be a monkey. “Ee ee” Lila responds, “I love acting like a monkey”. They both laugh and swung from branch to branch, imitating monkeys. There was a smell in the air that afternoon; it was as though something was burning. “What is that smell? Its getting stronger.” states Lila. They never paid much attention to the smell after that until they heard sirens. The sirens grew louder and louder when a fire truck came roaring down the street. The kids jumped down from the tree and went running after the flaming red fire truck. The firefighters were fighting the blaze with their hoses and there were planes dropping water from above. The kids were amazed by the firefighters they wanted to see more but the police officers told the children to go back to their house and not to worry about anything. The kids ran home to tell their mom. “Mom! Mom! Do you smell that, the woods are on fire! The police sent us to tell you” Lila exclaimed. The mother did not believe her children but then she sees the smoke. The mother franticly ran around the house looking for things to try to salvage in the case they have to evacuate. She is gathering photos, papers, anything she can think of when there is a knock on the door. “Sorry miss but you are going to have to evacuate as soon as possible for you and your children safety” the Police officer states. The mother is unsure of what to pack away she knows she cannot fit everything in the car. She tells her kids to grab anything that means a lot to them and that they have five minutes. The kids run to their rooms where they grab their teddy bears, blankets, and some clothes. The mother packs up the car with her children in the backseat with their dog, cat, and even their neighbours’ hamster. She drives away scared and thinking this would be the last time she sees her home. The family stayed with their grandmother that night. There was not much sleeping happening that night by the kids or their mother. When they awoke they were unsure if they even had a house to go home to that morning. The mother assured the kids that everything was okay; she got in the car by herself and drove back to her house unsure of what she was going to see. As she turns onto her road she see firefighters in the ashes of the forest and she begins to cry thinking that her house is gone. She approaches her house and there it was standing just as she left it all in one piece. There were firefighters sitting on the roof soaking the house all night to ensure that it would not catch on fire. The mother could not be more grateful; she called her children and exclaimed to them the wonderful job the firefighters did to save their house. The family returned to their house the next night and they were never so happy to be sleeping in their own beds.

( In the voice of a young girl )

The very first time I ran away I was just a little girl. I was only five fingers old when I ran into the forest for the very first time. I’d put my play clothes on first though so mommy wouldn’t get mad if I got all dirty. I’m six now but I would never leave home without my best friend Ben. I got Ben when I was just a baby, and when I felt scared he would lick my hand to make me feel like everything was okay. I liked his company when I used to hide in the forest but sometimes he’d let his nose get the best of him and we’d find ourselves lost in the darkness of the night. I used to tell him not to get us lost but he didn’t listen much. I guess I should have listened to my mommy too when she told me not to wander farther then the white fence that separated our house from the ‘magical’ forest.

It was me and Ben’s secret though, no one else knew that the forest was magical and all of the fun things that we found there. When I ran away at night time after supper we would see glowing yellow eyes in the trees, I tried to tell mommy once but she said trees don’t have eyes, but I know they do I saw them with my own. Sometimes on our adventures Ben would bark at the squirrels, but they couldn’t talk back because they always had their mouths full. Mommy always told me never to talk with my mouth full, so I guess there mommies did too. I’ll never forget that special night when I was only five, me and Ben saw lots of stars twinkling in the sky and the some stars made the shape of a big spoon, like the ones mommy would let me lick after making a big chocolate cake.

When I’d feel lucky I’d make a wish on one of the brightest stars it was my favorite. Sometimes I’d wish for new toys or candy but most of the times I’d wish for daddy to come back home. Mommy said he’s not comin back though cuz he’s at peace now in a place called heaven, mommy wishes he’d come home too. I think Ben misses daddy too sometimes, he used to take Ben huntin in these woods and Ben used to chase rabbits. He don’t like to chase them anymore though so he usually just sticks with me. I never told mommy about my favorite star for a long time, but when I did she didn’t get mad no more when she’d see me go past the white fence. I think its cuz she knows I liked to go make wishes with Ben in my special place as long as I was home by seven to hug and kiss her goodnight.

A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze and fell to the ground in a large field. While it was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on it. As the frozen bird lay there in the pile of cow dung, it began to realize how warm it was. The dung was actually thawing him out! He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for joy. A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate. Following the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and promptly dug him out and ate him.

I’m going to tell you an embarrassing story of when I was younger. So, when I was 12 years old I was very excited going into the school year because I was no longer a child, trapped in the elementary school system but rather an adolescent, entering the wonderful world of junior high. For essentially the entire summer I was anticipating my first day of school. The excitement that I had is beyond anything that I can really describe. In fact that first day of school just may have been the most excitement I remember feeling in my entire life. Anyway, so finally the day arrives and I make it to junior high where my brother was a senior in the graduating class so I felt pretty cool and confident with no sense of fear. After all, if anything were to happen I’d have my brother’s protection because he and his friends “ruled the school!” However, my excitement turned to pure embarrassment when while on break between classes I had to go to the washroom so badly. I had to go pee so bad I practically wet my pants. So, I quickly ran to the nearest washroom, kicked open the door and immediately started undoing my belt buckle before I had even entered the stall when suddenly I looked up and saw a boy washing his hands. For a moment I was completely confused, thinking he had made the mistake when I turned around and realized I was surrounded by a number of males. After hearing a bunch of laughter, I quickly ran out of the washroom where I was met with more laughter and puzzled looks. Extremely embarrassed I finally ran into the proper washroom and peed like I had to do, taking an extra amount of time in the washroom afterward to gather my thoughts and dignity, trying to erase the embarrassment moment from my memory. Clearly, since that was a good ten years ago, the strategy did not work and I am still haunted to this day with that terrible memory.

This past summer my two sisters, my friend and I drove to Moncton New Brunswick to camp and to go to the Country Rocks the Hill concert. The day of the concert we were all hanging out around the tent and two of Alan Jackson’s film crew came up to us and asked is they could video tape us. They wanted to show what fans do before they go to see Alan Jackson. At the concert during one of the songs, my younger sister’s picture came up in the background of the video. Some of the other performers at the concert were George Canyon, Sugarland and Brooks & Dunn. The concert was absolutely amazing aside from the fact that we got rained out and ended up sleeping in the truck.

My mom told me a story once when her and my dad had just moved into their home and were doing it over. My grandfather and my father were up in the attic working around the chimney. She said my grandfather had been continually repeating to my father to “Be careful now Barry, you have to step on the beams so you don’t fall through the jip rock” (because the attic didn’t have proper flooring, between each beam and insulation had only been jip rock). My mom said my grandfather must have preached to my dad, saying it almost 5 times. At the time my mom was in her room watching television, and all of a sudden she sees a big leg come pummeling through her ceiling. Scared! She screams; then starts laughing hysterically. She ran up to see if my father was okay. It turns out that it wasn’t my father’s leg through that ceiling, it was my grandfathers. She said she ran downstairs trying to hold in her laugh because my grandfather was after preaching to my dad about not stepping on the jip rock, but she just couldn’t help it. My mom sat there and laughed so hard she started crying. She said my grandfather wasn’t too pleased about it. But after a while he started to laugh at himself. Haha

A Horse Of Course

One summer for my 7th birthday, my parents took myself and my sister Jillian to P.E.I. on vacation. For the first few days we did all the typical tourist stuff, spent the day at Rainbow valley, Cavendish beach etc... One morning while eating breakfast at the cabins were we were staying, my sister hollered : mommy there's a horse in the kitchen" before my mother could answer , I had run ahead of her and saw a horse with its head stuck in our kitchen. We were all in shock and burst out laughing. We went outside to investigate and there was a very old man weakling overalls, tweed jacket, and smocking a pipe. The horse was hooked up to an old wagon. He asked us if we wanted to go for a little drive. My parents hesitated at first, but off we went. It ended up being one of my favourite childhood memories.

He told us storeis along the way, like the time he was pulled over in the horse and buggy and charged with drinking and driving. He fought the charge and drvoe his buggy all the way to the court house in Charlotte Town, he even made money on the way picking up bottles on the roadside. The highlight of the drive though was when he pulled up to the liquor store and parked the horse & buggy in the parking lot, leaving us to sit there while he went into the store. Everyone was smiling and talking a second look when they pulled up to the store and saw us sitting there. The funniest monet came when he said " I have to get home to mom, and make her some supper". He looked about 80. We wondered how old his mother was (ha ha!)

This is a story I was told as a child. I never bothered to investigate it but I liked the romanticism of it.

My great-great grandfather on my Mother's side was a smuggler along the coast from Nova Scotia to Maine. Like a pirate, we always asked, picturing a swashbucking handsome hero. Apparently, he smuggled rum and tobacco and other goods 'un-named'. He was, so we were told, very successful at what he did and managed to amass a lot of money and a lot of land. Of course, the authorities stepped in and ended his illegal activities. He was arrested and although his lands weren't confiscated, his money was. His descendents didn't have enough money to maintain the land or pay the taxes and they weren't good at farming so most of the land was also confiscated by the authorities.

That is how our family lost its fortune. Although made from illegal activities, they were the 'innocent victims' of 'harsh' government regulations.

When I was a child, it was almost 20 years ago. I used to live with my grandpa, everyday morning, we got up early, then go to a restaurant to “drink tea”, that is one daily event between me and my grandpa.

One day, we went to the same restaurant as usual, and I had fun with other children in the restaurant beside a small manmade lake which added a few fish in it on that day. I was so curious about the fish that new in the lake, so I wanted to touch them, I got closer and closer to them, suddenly, a boy pushed me, and then I fell into the lake. I thought the lake was so deep that I can’t stand on the bottom, so I struggled and scream. My grandpa heard my voice, and he ran to me, and said, anki, the lake is not as deep as you think so, but I heard nothing and kept struggling. There was no choice, so my grandpa jumped into the lake, and helped me got out of the lake…

It’s the most impression story I have remembered in my childhood.

People often ask me why I’m so religious. They ask me why I continue to visit a church that continues to rejects me. It is written in the bible after all that my ‘kind” is sinful. I am allegedly damned to hell when I die. But yet I’m a devout catholic. Every time I enter the church I get blatant stares, or people uncomfortably look away. Everyone knows the truth, but no one will say anything. They save the gossip for when I’m not around. A horrible feeling of loneliness and rejection in an otherwise sacred and spiritually fulfilling atmosphere.

I still remember the day the priest found out. I had been volunteering to direct a Christmas pageant that was to be performed the following Sunday. The priest invited me over for dinner that weekend, and said he’d like it if I brought my family as well. I gladly accepted his offer. That weekend, the priest heard a knock on his door. On his door step, he saw me, another man and two children; a boy and a girl. He asked if the man was my brother; I said no. He was my partner, Jamie, and the two children were from a previous marriage of his from which he maintained custody. The priest seemed shocked. A man who was normally very talkative now seemed unusually awkward. Jamie never helped much either. He had a strong passion against the Catholic church. He believed it was the sole cause of homophobia, and refused to ever step foot in a church. It was a wonder I managed to get him to even eat dinner with the priest.

After that day, the priest seemed to talk less with me. He avoided eye contact, and seemed to stutter during the rare occurrences where we did actually speak.

Jamie still asks me, “Why do you still visit an institution that claims we’re to be damned to hell?” I tell him that the bible is written by man, and it’s God I worship every Sunday. And I don’t believe God would damn anybody.

Once upon a time there was this young boy who had a dream to become a professional athlete. He was from the western part of Canada. This kid was multi-talented; he could play soccer, basketball and hockey at a high level of competition. All his family and friends knew this kid is special, but figured he could not make it professionally.

When he reached high school, his main focus was playing basketball and wanted to get a scholarship at one of the top notch universities in the United States, where basketball is big all over the world. He applied everywhere, but nobody would accept him or take him seriously, mainly because of the fact that he was Canadian and our country usually did not have the talent of athletes in the USA. But one day, he finally got accepted to a small university in California after all that trouble.

When he got there, nobody expected much of him, being a small Canadian born basketball player. So he worked hard everyday, putting extra hours in the gym, bouncing tennis balls rather than basketballs to work on his dribbling skills. Eventually his work started to payoff, as he stood out as the best player on his team, setting a few records at the school as well. Some people recognized that he had great game.

Finally, when it came down to trying to make it in the NBA, most people did not think he was good enough. This did not faze him because this happened to him before. He finally got drafted, but was not recognized as a very good player. The first few years in the league, he rarely got a lot of playing time and did not have very good numbers. So again he worked even harder than before, playing in the gym before practice and even staying after practice. He worked and worked and worked and eventually, things got better for him and people started to take him seriously. This lead to him being a high profile player and a two-time MVP of the league……I don’t think it’s hard to guess who this guy is.

Moral- Hard work will always pay-off, maybe not right away, but surely down the road.

At first I didn’t know what story I was going to tell you because I am a person that has many stories to tell (some more legal then othersJ) that I didn’t know what one to tell you, but after a long thought process I have come up with the one that I think is the funniest thing in the last four years of my life.

Back in my grade 11 year of high school I was chosen to attend the Encounters With Canada program in Ottawa, while there we did various tours and other events. On our first day their during the afternoon we went for a walking tour of the capital region but we missed a few things that were on the to-do lists of our monitors so we decided that we would come back that evening to do those certain things. So when we came back we walked through one of the main parks near parliament, and before we went through it was mentioned that this was a popular spot for local “special women” to loom. As we went through I saw this pretty shady looking women (you have to keep in mind this was just around dusk!) and I said to the person next to me (who I ASSUMED was my friend that I had been walking with this entire time) hey look at that babe over there I think it’s a hooker getting ready to start her evening “drive-thru”, and to my unbeknownst surprise it was one of my monitors that was doing the tour. I was very relieved when I realized it was one of the younger ones so she laughed her ass off, and from that point on until it was over the two of us had an amazing insider joke between us!

A few weeks ago my friend Dave and I decided it would be a good idea to go to St. FX to visit our friend Joe…well, Dave decided and gave me 15 minutes notice that we were going to X for the night. I think another factor in his decision was that there was supposed to be a rather large keg party going on that weekend.

After quickly packing up a few things I would need, beer and sandwiches mostly, Dave roared into my driveway with his 1988 Porsche and we were on our way.

The drive was mostly uneventful; we ate some sandwiches, talked about our plans for that night, and wondered what Joe would think when we showed up unannounced with plans to sleep on his floor.

When we arrived at X things quickly got into full swing, Joe was happy to see us and as it turns out there was a party on the floor of his residence that night. We met a few more people who lived in the same building (Lane Hall) and most of them were very friendly and surprisingly free with their alcohol, which struck me as odd. In high school if you brought beer to a party, you would have to carry it around with you all night or risk having it stolen (which it most certainly would be), yet these people were giving out free beer like it was going out of style.

Throughout the night, we traveled to several other residence halls, as well as the house party with the keg, which we had heard about earlier in the night. I vaguely remember getting thrown out of one residence because Dave had taken it upon himself to smoke cigarettes in the bathrooms, rather then step outside into the blistering cold night. Also during the night we had somehow come into possession of a 60 ounce bottle of vodka…I’m quite confident we paid a girl about 20 dollars for it at one of the parties…but I can’t be sure. In any case, we returned to Joe’s room at about 5:00 AM and went to sleep for a few hours.

Feeling in no mood for the greasy breakfast the school provided, we decided it would be prudent to get on the road early for our return home. The 2 hour drive turned into about a 5 hour one however when the Porsche broke down outside of St. Peters.

Dave and I spent 20 minutes trying to hitchhike into town to call CAA when finally a nice older woman picked us up. I was very surprised that we found a drive at all, as both of us looked like serial killers after our long night of partying. In any case, Dave finally got in touch with his mother as well as CAA and we were able to get the car towed. His mother drove all the way to St. Peters to pick us up. I’d say the trip was worth it though.

Once their was a young boy named Jamie who was orphaned at a young age. He was sent to live with his grandmother who treated him like a slave. She made him eat scraps of food that fell on the floor and he had to sleep in the attic. He was allowed to go to school but he didn't have any friends. He wore second hand clothes that were very out of date and he was really skinny and frail. Every night before he went to sleep he would pray to God or anyone who would listen that he wanted to get away. One day Jamie decided he had had enough so he packed his bag of tattered clothes and ran away. He was wandering the streets cold and alone with no idea of where to go. All of a sudden a strange man came out of nowhere and offered the boy a home, job and a chance at an education. He decided it was better than dying on the streets or going back to his grandmothers. He arrived at his new home to find other children who were in similar situations as himself. They explained to Jamie that the mysterious man was a widowed millionaire who wanted to help homeless children because he had lost his own children. Jamie realized how lucky he was to have a home and he grew up happy and healthy with a family who loved him.

I'm standing outside the building with a sign in my hand. Does a piece of cardboard with writing on it attached to a piece of wood count as a sign? I don't know, we'll call it a sign for lack of a better word. My hands are freezing and I begin to wonder why I didn't wear gloves. It's freezing. It's winter, afterall, it's supposed to be freezing. My ears are warm. I've worn a toque. A shocking burst of intelligence in a day of stupid decisions.

I glance around me. Side to side, front to back. I'm one of a small group, a minority. They all look like lost sheep. Sheep holding signs and standing around in the cold wondering what the hell they should do with themselves. I'm waiting for someone to let out a worried "Baaa...". The thought makes me smile. A woman standing next to me frowns so I stop smiling and look back at the building. This is the saddest protest I've ever attended. I haven't attended many. Noone's yelling or breaking things or making funny rhymes. I signed on for broken bones and billy bats, smashed windows and egging. Peaceful protests were boring.

I perk up when someone exits the building. He's dressed in a nice suit and tie, shiny shoes. He's wearing an expensive jacket and what look to be leather gloves. And a scarf. I want that scarf. My neck is cold. He looks at our sad group. The lost sheep. I think I hear a "Baaa...".

"What are you all doing here?" he asks. I can hear the laugh in his voice. Noone says anything. Sheep don't speak. I look around and wait for someone to say something. Nothing. That guy with the warm scarf and shiny shoes is talking again. I'm not listening. Cold and bored I rebel--the black sheep--and toss my sign over the crowd. It lands with a pathetic thump on the frozen grass. The whole group turns to look at me. Scared sheep, their eyes are wide.

I tug my hat down over my ears and mutter an obscenity under my breath. Then I turn away from the group and start walking home.

I never liked sheep.

While my brother was away at college, he called me one day and told me a story about his friend’s sister, named Kimmy. Lee and his sister were sitting in the car waiting for their parents to come from the house. The car had been covered with ice and Lee thought it would be funny to roll down the window and say “Hey Kimmy watch this.” Lee smashed his head through the sheet of ice that covered where the window was. Kimmy was amazed when Lee rolled the window up and a new one appeared. I guess Lee got out of the car for a minute, and when he got back in Kimmy said “Lee look!” Kimmy hauled off and smashed her head into the window and the glass shattered. Lee freaked out because she had a huge gash in her head with glass stuck in it, but Kimmy reassured him it was okay and tried to roll a new window back up, except she had actually broken the window so pieces of glass fell everywhere.

This story has been told around the diner table at my grandparents house many times. We visit my grandparents every staturday for lunch. my grandmother isn't always the best cook(we all seem to pop an antacid right before we pull in to their driveway for our weekly lucheon). My grandfather is 81 years old and is still as young as ever, just this winter he renovated their kitchen all on his own. there is nothing that my grandfather can not build. He is a sweet man and tells us lots of stories about the old farm. There is one story though that explains my grandfather's personality so well and we all seem to chuckle when we hear it.

Back when my grandfather was a younger man, going to the dentist was not something that was regulary done. My grandfather had a really bad tooth ache and could not get rid of it, so finally my granmother convinced him to go to the dentist. Now when my grqndfather was a child there was no such thing as freezing medication but the day he went to the dentist for his aching tooth it was a normal occurance to have freezing done. My grandfather did not know this. My grandfather is not a big man but he did work on a farm for over 20 years and was not the type to get scared easily. When he was sitting in the chair waitng for the tooth to be pulled out the dentist came over holding a long needle to freeze his mouth. My grandfather looked at the dentist and calmly said "just one moment" he took off the bib, got up from his chair and put on his hat and said " you have a nice day" and left the dentist office. He has not be to a dentist since.

This story has brought many laughs to our famillie's saturday luncheons. i love this story because my my grandfather gets just as big a kick out of it as everyone else.

My story comes from my early childhood. I was about 4 or 5 years old I was at my aunt and uncle's house for my cousin's birthday. It was dark when we were leaving the house and straight ahead of the house, about 100 yards away on the hill, is an old barn. Being a young child with a wildly active imagination, I thought that the white boxes stacked in the corner of one of the windows looked very much like the A&W Root Beer Bear. So much so that I convinced myself it was the actual bear and he lived in their barn. Every time I left their house from that point on it was a dead sprint to the car so that he wouldn't be able to catch me. Of course, I was the youngest child in the family and every time before I left their house, my four older cousins would sing the song - the one that goes Ba doom, Ba doom Ba doom Ba doom doom. They still think they are funny and do it the odd time when I leave the house in the dark. I do not think they are funny and have proudly overcome my fear of the A&W Root Beer Bear. I can even eat at A&W now. If this is not a success story, then I don't know what is.

Folklore Cavalcade with your Pal, Ian

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Question of the (reading) week

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

My students tell stories. Some of them are nuts

The Man, the Myth, the Legend, the Marchen, the Dite

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