I think I’ve related this incident here before. When we were kids, my dad worked on the railroad, so there would be days when he was off that he would have us to himself all day. My mom would head off to work with a stern command “DO NOT FILL THESE KIDS WITH SUGAR.” Unfortunately my dad had a pathologically chronic sweet tooth which is one of the reasons we children and all of our friends adored him. Anyway, there was the day my mom left for work after barking out the orders. At lunchtime, dad marched us all 3 blocks to the cafe where we had hamburgers for lunch. But instead of the customary ice cream cone from the drugstore, we were marched (confused) into Peterson’s bakery. With our input, dad selected this beautiful 3 layered coconut frosted cake. We walked home with it in a box which he placed on the kitchen table, which was not the sort of discipline to which we were accustomed. Ordinarily any sweets would be devoured enroute. I now realize that this assured no telltale evidence lingering in the house or yard. A couple of hours later we were summoned to the kitchen, the cake was removed from the box and half a gallon of milk placed on the table. And the 5 of us devoured that entire cake down to the last crumb. We combined to wash, dry and restore the dishes to their cabinets and left that kitchen as pristine as it had ever been. Dad then addressed the greedy assembly to the effect “you know, we shouldn’t worry your mother about this. It might really upset her.” Now this little speech was quite unnecessary for me and my sisters. We were born criminals. All eyes fell on my little brother, without question the reliably weak link in the chain of conspiracy. We all tried to impress on him the solemn necessity for secrecy and it appeared the lecture took. We kids then set loose on the neighborhood to hang with our friends. As was usual on dad’s day off, around 6 we made our way home to find dad had the cooking for dinner well underway with mom sitting at the table puffing on her signature cigarette. The girls arrived last, when my mother through a cloud of smoke asked “So what did you all do today?” She asked as casually as one might inquire about the weather, but she was staring as a hawk might a mouse at my little brother. The rest of us were also staring but in terror, but dad was ready “You guys need to wash your hands” was his quick interjection, and we were on our feet for the bathroom with my brother shuffled in our hurried midst. We got to the bathroom, turned the water on in both sinks, and pleaded with our brother that the secret be maintained. He assured us that he understood. Hands washed, we returned to the kitchen, and before we could sit, the interrogation resumed with “what did you have for lunch?”—again staring only at my brother. My brother just LOVED the attention of us all in moments like this and there was no doubt that he had it now. He began rattling excitedly on the trip to the cafe, and not an eye in the room would have blinked had the ceiling collapsed. It was agonizing, like watching an approaching trainwreck. Mom knew the drill and interrupted the excited narrative with “and Anthony, did you have ice cream on the way home for dessert?” I was thinking our doom assured when Anthony blurted out “uh-uh (no), and I couldn’t believe our miraculous escape. But apparently mom couldn’t believe it either. She gazed quizzically at my brother as she said “you had no desserts on the way home?” Panic again. But once more and unbelievably a lucky “uh-uh”. Dinner itself was exceptional in that my younger brother held the floor conversation wise. The rest of us sat awaiting in unaccustomed unity the moment we must surely be hurled from the cliff. My mother was all too aware that something was up, and when the rest of us neglected to fight over who would do the dishes, she simply said as she stared this time at dad. “You all should come clean. Whatever’s going on, I’ll find out about it and you’ll wish you’d confessed.” The secret held a full 2 days.
Topics:
)“Great Answer”
(2
