I did submit a piece to one of Evil Editor's (http://evileditor.blogspot.com) exercises this past week. As FairyHedgeHog (http://fairyhedgehog.blogspot.com) pointed out, it was naughty, and I normally don't do naughty.
While never overly graphic, there was a time when wrote a lot of naughty. I was young, and doing something naughty - but harmless - seemed like fun. Well, let me be honest. It was fun.
There have been many such 'phases' in my writing. Fantasy has been my strongest interest, but I also love to poke fun - at anything and everyone (including me). I find it risky, now, because it seems few people have the stomach to take being laughed at - even by friends. Publically, at least, it seems we are losing the ability as a people to laugh at ourselves, or tolerate others laughing at us.
What a pity I can't sentence everyone to go back in time and grow up in my family. It would not take long before everyone realized that being laughed at - by people who really love you - is annoying, but not terrible. You survive in the rich experience that these people care enough about you to let you know when you're being stupid.
You probably won't find this funny, but every time it gets brought up in one our family get-togethers, all present - me halfheartedly - laugh at this.
When I was in grade school, somewhere between six and eight years old (that would be seven, right?), we were up at Grandma's House in Willow River. It had been a wonderful day. Grandma had put out a bowl of mixed nuts. I kept sneaking into the dining room, cracking a handful open, and then rushing out of the house to eat them secretly. Cashews, almonds, walnuts and Brazils. I loved them all. Well, most of them. Well, I got caught and Grandma put the nuts away so I wouldn't ruin my lunch. But she promised me that she would put the nuts in a bag so that when I went home I could take them with me. Grandma was wonderful that way. She understood.
Well, I forgot about the bag of nuts. My family climbed into our Chevy station wagon, all eight of us (Ranlan was up at Moose Lake). Gayanne, Helvie and I had to sit in the back. Dad would lift the window portion up and we would ride the 86 miles home with our feet hanging over the gate. But before Dad even started the car here comes Grandma running out of the house. Now Grandma was about five feet two and 'portly'. She's carrying a brown paper bag. She is animated to the point of being comical. And do you know what she's screaming?
"Bevie's nuts! Bevie's nuts!"
Not only were Mickey and my sisters laughing hysterically, but Dad and Mother were, too. I started to cry, and that only made it more funny (to them). But I wasn't alone. Not this time. Grandma was there. She stood outside the driver's door and berated everyone in the car (except me). She blasted Dad, who wasn't even her son. Grandma understood. But only partly. After she gave me the bag and a kiss and returned to the house, I still had to endure 86 miles of "Bevie's nuts!"
But they loved me. I think they did, but what the hell do I know? I'm nuts.
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