By Bob Senitram
If a trashy person talks nice, is it still trash talk?
Like I mentioned last week, I like to keep my promises.
But that don’t always go so good.
This week, I’m seven years old and I’m spending he weekend at my grandma’s house.
My grandma was kind of a mean person.
But she was always super nice to me. Don’t really know why…I was the golden-child.
One of the few times she scolded me, was because I ate a grape without washing it first.
She said, “You have to wash grapes before you eat them.”
I asked, “Why?”
“Because grapes are picked by filthy Mexican’s! They go to the bathroom outside and don’t wash they’re hands. Then they go and start picking the grapes again. They have germs!!!
You have to wash them.”
I replied, “But I’m Mexican, does that make me a filthy Mexican too?”
“Oh, no, no, no, you’re one of the good ones. Your special, that’s why I treat you better than everyone else.”
Still don’t know what that meant, but ok.
I’m special.
I thought about it for a minute. “Maybe the people they work for should build them bathrooms so they don’t have to go outside.”
“They wouldn’t use them.” She replied.
Oh well, she was born around 1900, so that’s how people thought back then.
But that was rare, grandma was always super nice to me, although she treated everyone else like shit.
I was the golden child.
My mom said it was because I looked like my grandpa who had passed away long ago.
Anyways, while my siblings walked on egg shells around her, I did whatever I wanted. Anyone gave me any slack, they’d have to answer to her.
Grandma live with my aunt and during summer I spent at least one weekend every few weeks at their place, because I was special.
At grandma’s I was treated like a king. No chores for Bobby. She provided plenty of snacks and ice cream and took me shopping for toys.
Meanwhile, my siblings got to visit once each summer, where they were required to sit on the couch and flip thru magazines and not make too much noise because it will give her a headache.
But, on one weekend visit I decided to venture into her garage, although she had a strict rule never to go in the garage. There weren’t dead bodies in there or nuthin’, just tools that she thought a little kid would hurt themselves with.
Well, it just so happens that I found some of those tools and a nice chair, but it was much too big for me to sit in, so I decided to grab a saw and chop off a piece of each leg to make it into a chair that was just my size.
Did a pretty good job too. It was nice and even and didn’t wobble and I could sit in it nice and comfy.
Well, ol’ grandma caught me in the garage and gave a good yellin’.
She asked me if I ruined the family heirloom, handed down from her mother.
Again, I should have lied, but I just said, “Yeah, I though I’d fix that chair so’s I can sit in it.”
That’s it.
Not really a story about not breaking a promise, but it’s what popped in my head at the time I sat down to write this.
AND NOW YOU KNOW!
Classify this as nostalgia forgotten!
Song in my head:
COMING NEXT: Promises Part III: Cancel or Puke?
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