Confessions, Part 2

1963 Ford Falcon

Vacations


Our family vacations consisted of pilgrimages to southwestern Kentucky to visit my mother’s family. We weren’t sure about dad’s family in West Virginia, but we heard that his dad was born in the same town that housed the state mental hospital. Somehow, a visit there held little attraction (according to my wife, this little bit of information explains a lot).

We once took a trip from Ohio to Kentucky in my grandfather’s 1963 Ford Falcon. He bought it brand new and loved that car. He would say, “I’m a Ford man.” I don’t recall that my dad accompanied us on the trip. He was either working or volunteered his seat to one of the kids. His selflessness knew no bounds. In this car, was loaded my grandfather, my grandmother (a large woman) my mother, and 3 children. The Falcon had no air conditioning (a luxury in 63), and mom and grandpa were chain smokers. But wait, there’s more…

On the trip (which my siblings and I called “The Bataan March, Part 2”), was another passenger. My grandmother insisted that we take their little dog, a Chihuahua mix named “Jigger” (this too, is absolutely true. My brother and sister will corroborate this). The dog got his name from my grandmother who, upon seeing him for the 1st time, remarked, “Why, he ain’t no bigger than a jigger.” It was years before I knew what a jigger was and I will guarantee that if Rena (grandma’s name, short for Vorena and pronounced “Reener”) ever swilled ‘shine, she didn’t measure it in ounces.

So, there we were: 3 adults, 3 kids aged 12, 10, and 8, and Jigger in what would be considered today a subcompact car by Avis & Hertz, on a 12 hour drive to southwest Kentucky. I could make that drive today in considerably less time, but I would not have to contend with 3 kids, grandma, and Jigger.

I blame this trip in general and Jigger in particular for my dislike of pets. This creature gave new meaning to the word obnoxious. First of all, to take a dog on a long trip like this was ridiculous. Come to think of it, to take a kid on trip like this was ridiculous. But, the idea of taking a Chihuahua rose to new heights of insanity. (I realize that I may offend Chihuahua owners with this, but I doubt if any of them read this blog. In fact, I don’t think anyone reads this blog, but it feeds my narcissism). The creature was so hyper that all he wanted to do was run around and bark. With all of us greased up and stuffed into the Falcon, there was no room for him to run, so he just barked and peed. To this day, when I hear a Chihuahua bark, I instinctively lift my feet from the floor.

When we visited Kentucky, Uncle Willie (no kidding), who was married to aunt Georgie, would don a mask and frighten the Yankee kids by becoming the boogey-man. However, in Kentucky there was no “boogey-man. He was “the booger man.” I guess “booger” means something completely different in northern folklore.

We were Yankee kids – or as our cousins called us “uppity” – and though we were not upwardly mobile, we did have indoor plumbing. Not so the family in Kentucky. One could write a book on the logic of outhouse design, and the ones we saw were diverse and intriguing. The standard 2 – holer had a small and large hole. Was it one size for adults and one for children? The more elaborate “privies” had 4 holers. I do not understand 4 holes unless it was a twisted variation of the ever present plaque, “The family that prays together stays together.” Our more well-to-do relatives actually had toilet seats affixed to the openings.

For nighttime use, there was the “chamber pot.” When one rose in the night to use the chamber pot, all modesty was lost. “The pot” was tucked away under the bed and it was expected to be used beside the bed and then replaced. In no time, we learned how it got its other name; the “Thunder Mug.” While on vacation, it was the responsibility of the oldest of the Yankee kids to empty the pot each morning so it could be ready for the next evening. This was my initiation into “down home” culture. There are definite draw backs in being the oldest.

As we drove around, mom would regale us with bits of history relevant to our family line. “I used to pick huckleberries in that field,” she would report. While the excitement was still heavy in the air, she would then say, “Uncle Willie would take me to pick paw-paws over there.”

If the vacation wasn’t enough, we had the return to trip to look forward to. Picture the 3 kids, 3 adults, endless cigarette smoke, and Jigger. But the return trip had added benefits that made the long hours simply fly past. The adults – particularly mom and grandma – would spend the entire trip constructively critiquing each of the families we visited.

Grandma: “I’ll Suwannee, Ivy’s put on 30 pounds since I last saw her.”

Mom: “And you know those kids of Noah’s (mom’s cousin pronounced “No-ee”) done forgot where they come from. They are too uppity for their own good.”

Grandma: “And what the #$@@&% does Charlie and Dulce (no clue, but I promise it’s true. Call my brother) think they’re going to do with all those $%&&#* cows, pardon my French!