As a child I lived for a long period of time in an extended family environment, my grandfather, Anton was the head of the house, and it was my brother and I, my mother, and two of her sisters living in a small three bedroom house. The house was heated by a space heater in the living room. The ice man had to bring dried ice to keep our icebox cold; we had a well along side of the house for water, and there were old barns next door on each side of our house, being converted into garages. The city of St. Paul was quite conservative back then [Minnesota. And many families lived like ustogether in an extended family environment; those setups seem to be coming back some nowadays, with the shortage of houses in Minnesota, and high rents. They were hard-working folks, my family: uncles, aunts, grandfather, and my mother; my mother worked for Swifts, at the stockyards, and my grandfather a painter, worked for a few outfits, and eventually, acquired a restaurant, along with his day job as a painter and had someone work it when he couldnt.
My brother Miketwo years older than Iand I slept in the bedroom next to the dinning room; my mother in the bedroom across from the living room; and my grandfather in the bedroom across from the bathroom. The two sisters slept on the couch and a rollaway bed, in the livingroom, and sometimes with my mother. This was during the early fifties [1951-57. We did have plenty to eat on the table back then, just not much money to do anything else. It was in 1956 when we got our large black and white television, and what a crown of glory it was for the house.
Of all those days, there are a few select that will never slip my memory. My mother, poor woman, shed be walking in the dinning room setting up lunch, or wiping down the curtains, and a centipede would appear; you know, those little creatures, wormlike animals with a hundred legs, one for each section of its body, slim body, and little antennas (modifi ed legs, that can be poison fangs) you cant really see those legs, unless you are on top of them. Little beady eyes and yellowish in color (they came in all sizes: large, medium and small back then), some a bit more tan. They could run when cornered Ill tell you that, perhaps faster than the Roadrunner, and I suppose that is what made them more creeper than a mouse, for my mother was not afraid of mice.
But let me get to the point here. Shed jump and scream when she saw a centipede; indeed she would, scream until her lungs almost collapsed. She definitely looked as though she needed calm down pills. Arrayed in a morbid, pale face, grandpa would come running from wherever he was: basement, kitchen, cellar (feeding his pigeons), thinking the roof fell in, fell on top of heronly to find out he had to undertake the killing of a ferocious centipede, thus, he would take his bare-foot, smash it, and walked away saying,
I cant believe this, ititby god-what is the matt er with that woman! and then came an entourage of four lettered words.
Next, shed quickly put on her slippers if she didnt have them on already: white-moccasins, with beady-laced trim around, and in the center of the leathered moccasins; she was partial fond of that kind of footwear.
To be quite frank, I never saw a more frightened person over a centipede in my entire lifethen, and up to now then my mother. During these outbursts, she seemed to suck up all the oxygen in the room she was in; yes, without a doubt, Id seem to get exhausted just watching it, watching these trials of fright; during those years we lived at 109 East Arch Street. I really felt for her, I mean, I felt helpless wanting to help her, and perplexed at the same time, because I couldnt; trying to figure out what was so scary about a bug, other than it was creepy looking.
Then there was the spiders who loved to entertain my mother, and they seemed to paralyze her like the centipedes, to t he point there was no escape from them, but to scream; and scream she did; again I say, old grandpa would look at her when shed go into those ferocious spells, and just utter, Yeah, yeah (and the four letter words) and shake his head as if it was loose at is core. But I kind of miss those days. Well, kinda, shes been gone now for a few years, and just before she passed on, I brought back a large dead tarantula, from South America, and told her if she could hold the dead creature, Id give her a little pot of bullion, and she held it, but only for a five seconds, and she got her pot.
See Dennis Siluk's books at: http://www.alldirect.com or http://www.bn.com
Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Short Story
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips
No comments:
Post a Comment