Why Don't I Shut UP?

The time has come, ladies and germs....oh yes...it has.  Its time once again for....

THE CHRONICLES OF BUBBA
 
As most of you know, Bubba has been my friend since before time as I know it began to roll forward.  We met in second grade and from there on it was a series of hilarious, death-defying scenarios that we somehow managed to survive.   But one thing is for sure...Bubba had my back and i had his.

No matter what happened, whether we were fighting or arguing or running from the law, we always managed to end up laughing.   One of my earliest memories of Bubba was his ability to get the merry-go-round on the elementary school spinning at a blinding speed.  He would sit on the edge of the thing on one knee and push it with his free leg.  The thing would be spinning so damn fast that it look like a blurry UFO.  I would watch with a sick sort of amusement as he would get that thing moving like a centerfuge and kids would try to jump on.  The would hit the whirling merry-go-round and literally bounce off into the ball field.  The site of them wandering around in the grass with a drunken-dazed look still brings laughter.

Another elementary school past time tether ball.  Anyone remember tether ball?  WHO in the HELL invented this sick ass game?  I mean really??   Hmmm...i think i'll tie a ball to a string.  HEY, this is a lot of fun but I bet if we tied the other end of the rope to a pole it might be even MORE fun.   Now all we need are two kids to hurl the rope ball around the pole until they get bored or (in my case) one of them gets the shit knocked out of them. 

Yep, I got the shit knocked out of me.  On one sunny morning out at recess, Bubba wound up and fired that bright-yellow tether ball.  It swung around like a rubber comet and clocked me.  RIGHT...IN...THE...FACE.  Now, getting hit in the face pretty much sucks squirrel balls.  We all know that.  But if you are a kid with glasses it sucks dead squirrel balls.  If you're a kid with glasses you pretty much don't want any thing coming within a 2-mile radius of your face.  For behind every kid with broken glasses was a mom with a roll of duct tape waiting to patch them up.  Growing up, I dont' think there was a 2 week stretch where my glasses didn't have some sort of bonding agent...tape, superglue, bubble gum...WHATEVER WORKED.  But walking around with a hardware store on your face wasn't the worst thing.  It was listening to your parents flip their lids when you told them you broke your glasses.  By the time I was twelve it was pretty much a common thing between my mom and I...the yelling stopped.  It was like "hey mom, broke my glasses again..."  "*yaaawnnn* go get the duct tape, son."  But in second grade, I was still breaking her in to the idea of broken glasses and I was damn sure afraid of telling her. 

So anyway, Bubba fires the tetherball right into my gob...glasses go crunch...i get mad and lose it for a split second and *Crack* smack Bubba right in the face.  After some creative cussing between the two of us and the threat of second grade ass whoopins' (which probably would've amounted to hair pulling and "your momma" jokes) we made our apologies and everything was cool.

All except for the demolished spectacles. 

Back in those days my mom helped manage my Grandfather's store, The New Holland Cut Rate.   It was back before the threat of child abductions and pedafiles and all that beautiful stuff we as parents today worry about.  So on a normal day I'd walk home from school and watch TV or torment my younger sister until my mom got home.  My older sister was supposed to be watching us but most times she was up in her room drinking Tab and listening to Leif Garrett records.  She was a huge supporter of Shawn Cassidy too...She was the girl that would find a song she liked and play it over and over and over until I felt my brain drooling from my ears.  But instead of walking home that day, I coerced Bubba into coming to The Cut Rate to break the news to my mom about my glasses.  I figured that she couldn't beat me if there were witnesses.

The plan was fool-proof.  We'd walk in, my mom would see I wasn't wearing my glasses.  She'd be pissed but with Bubba there she wouldn't lose it completely because she didn't want Bubba to think she was that crazy parent we all see from time to time that just goes ape shit on their kid in public (honestly I think i've been that parent once or twice...).  Great plan...mmmhmm.

So we reach the Cut Rate and pause outside the entrance to go over.  If we'd have been on a football field it would've been described as a huddle. 

"okay, I'll walk in and get my mom's attention and i'll just let it fly that my glasses got broke before she can flip out,"  I said

"What should I do?" Bubba inquired, the fear starting to blossom in his eyes.

"All you have to do is come in with me.  Just walk in there and don't say anything," I instructed.

The plan probably would've worked, had my mother not been trained in the guerilla warfare art of parenting.  We made it five steps in the door and before I even lay eyes on my mom she's on me.  I don't know if she was hiding in the magazine rack or under the floor tiles or what, but there she was looming over us both, now feeling very much like the little second graders we were.

"WHERE ARE YOUR GLASSES?"

This, however, was a rhetorical question.  Before I could answer, she grabbed onto my arm and started dragging me back towards the Cut Rate's back office. 

The back office!!!!  No customers to calm her flaring anger.  Oh shit, I thought.  If I get pulled into that cavern of doom I'm screwed.  Game over...thats all she wrote.  My one saving grace in all of this was Bubba.  If he was there it might deflect some of the wrath. 

But as I looked over my shoulder to call for Bubba's help, my stomach sank into my feet.  I saw Bubba, alright.  Not walking...not jogging....SPRINTING out the front door.  Our brave hero was literally knocking old ladies over to get as far away from the blast zone as possible. 

I dont remember much after that...i think i either blanked it out or blacked out from fear...hahah (my mom isn't that scary...dramatic license here).  All I know is  I showed up for school the next day with half a roll of duct tape on my glasses and an urge to kick Bubba square in the ass. 

posted by Michael Witmer @ Thursday, July 22, 2004