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The Fisher of Stories

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(Hey guys! It’s Memoir Monday! Everyone should know what to do, just steal my little button code down there, then paste it onto the Edit HTML section on your post. Type up a memoir, spank yourself a little, and call it a win! The only rule? It must be true. So go on! Get you some!)

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Today’s Memoir Monday could not have been possible without The Missus.

Or Kentucky.

Or racism.

So beware, if you are easily offended by The Missus, Kentucky, and/or racism, you might want to just go read something else.

When she and I were dating, her family decided to go visit their family in Kentucky. That’s where they’re all from.

Yep. Those people.

So anyway, we’d been dating awhile, and I didn’t really have anything else going that week, so what the heck, lets go East, shall we?

I get told we’re staying with “Uncle Willie and Aunt Margaret.” I chuckled, but only briefly.

We packed up, and headed that way.

When we arrived at my wifes dear aunt and uncle’s house, I immediately noticed some things. Uncle Willie was not a particularly tall man, and he had some…ahem…tendencies.

He was a nervous fella. Twitches and what not. Like maybe his nostrils had seenĀ or were currently seeing large quantities of cocaine.

We get the pleasantries out of the way and get settled. It wasn’t too long before I heard some bass coming from the road by their house. Uncle Willie looks at me and says,

“Those are those…negroes. They like their music up loud. Get’s on my nerves.”

Yeah. Willie didn’t like black people, but he spoke his racism quietly, almost at a whisper. I really don’t know if it still counts or not. I think it does.

I would like to point out at this juncture, that I am not a racist. I know several black people, and they all seem to like me okay, with the exception of one or two, who wouldn’t like me no matter what. I once was the recipient of a bear hug from a black man. Let me tell ya, when this guy hugs you, you stay hugged. Anyway, just wanted to clear that up.

Willie, however, was not so enlightened.

The next day, I noticed Willie walking out to his lawn quite frequently. Like, every 15 minutes or so. He’d just wander out the back door, look around the yard, and then go into the front yard, then amble back into the house. I thought this was weird, and I asked him about it.

“Well, sometimes, the darkies, you know, the black people, will take your lawn ornaments and stuff, and then go pawn them. ‘They’ like to steal stuff.”

Darkies? Wow. I will say this though, I didn’t once hear the “N” word, and I’d have probably drawn the line there and said something, after I was done laughing at his ignorance. For the record, yeah, thereĀ are a lot of black people in Kentucky, but for the most part, it was the white people that scared me.

I didn’t really talk to Willie much after that, and I don’t think I can be blamed. I found out later on in the week that they also Scotchguarded their towels, which kind of made drying off after a shower a difficult thing. It was like using a shammy.

That was also the week I became allergic to pork chops. By allergic, I mean that every time after that for about 4 years, I’d get a mean set of the hot poops if I so much as looked at a pork chop.

Then there was the ol covered bridge, which saw a lot more of me than it probably wanted to, and was easily the best part of the trip.

Oh, and I can also tell you that it takes approximately 2.5 seconds to get out of your girlfriends bed and onto the ground where you are supposed to be sleeping if you hear a noise.

That’s real.

Other “Non-Racial” Trips To Somewhere Besides Kentucky This Week: (GO READ THEM!)

Daffy’s Memoir Monday – Date FAIL.

K’s Does This Taste Sour To You?

Kys’ Memoir Monday: Grandma Bill
I’ve been playing basketball with high school boys.

Don’t judge me, I’m trying to lose some weight. They only play half court, and that is a perfect amount of space for my style of game. Lazy. So I laced up the ankle brace over my business socks, (you know it’s time forbidnesscause they’re business sockseeeeeeeewwwww…) laced up the Jordans, and went out to push some kids around today.

I get out there, and there are 5 black kids, and 7 of us honks. We start to get captains going, and sure enough, one of the black kids says, “Hey! Lets just play blacks versus whites!”
Hang on a sec.
What did you just say?!? I could not believe my poor ears, and what’s more, I couldn’t believe what happened next. THE COACH ALLOWED IT. That’s right, he allowed it. I said, “I don’t know if I can take part in this.” Everyone laughed, because I am, after all, the funny guy. So I say, “Alright, I’m in, but if I get called a honky, I’m gonna sue.” A couple minutes later the game started, and all I could think was, didn’t this get struck down in a court of law already?
Wanna take a guess at who won? Or do you even need to? I kid you not though, one of the black kids said, “Why are the whites gettin all the calls, coach?” Wow. That’s like having a grenade covered in Velcro come through the window while you’re wearing your Velcro shirt. All you can do is cover your vitals, make your peace with God, and hope you make it. The coach handled it well I think, until he said, “Alright! Blacks ball!” I almost winced.

Around that time, we integrated the teams. We put a white guy on the black team. Yup. They immediately lost. All told, nothing bad happened, and actually the kids had a lot of fun. Not one word was said about race, aside from the fact that we get more fouls, and I was proud of them for it. I think it just really goes to show that racism, hopefully, is dying out. I know some would disagree, but maybe I want to be a little optimistic here. Also, I think the ability to joke about it says a lot about a person. Since I’ve jested TWICE about race on here, I think I must be the coolest person in the world.
Not to toot my own horn or anything.Just thought I’d give everyone an update on the whole job thing. Yeah… I quit. Turns out, I needed about $200 worth of clothes just to work there, and I ain’t got it. Heck, I can’t even put somethin on it. The Missus went out and bought me $100 worth of clothes the other day, and none of it fit. None of it. My legs are like 15 inches long. My torso makes up the rest of my 6 foot frame. (alright, 5’11”) Anyway, we took all the clothes back yesterday so she could get her some things. This is were we had a life changing experience, and helped break down the segregation of a small department store in Tulsa.
Before I start, I want to give a shout out to the chick in Woodland Hills mall yesterday that had a magazine rolled up and tucked down in the ass of her pants. That’s classy. “Umm, I’d like this hairstyle please?” “Why’s the magazine smell so funny?” “Well, I didn’t have any pockets big enough to hold it…”
Idiot.
Then we went to Ross. I’m sure you’re familiar with the store, they have everything but the kitchen sink. I love going in there and looking at cooking stuff, because I’ve gotten some pretty cool stuff for cheap. (or if you live in Okay, “cheep.”) Anyhow, we go in, look for some stuff, she gets some stuff, and I spent a lot of time just lookin around. It’s what I do. As we get to the check out, we see this. (These are really low quality and blurry pictures that I apologize for, but they convey the point.)

That’s right. You’re looking at a white line, and a black/mexican line. I don’t KNOW that this is what people were intending when they lined up to check out, but for sure, this is what happened. I almost laughed out loud right there. Which line did me and The Missus line up in? That’s right, the black/mexican line. It’s here that I would like to point some things out.
I am not a racist. At all. However, I am very stereotypical, and I think that most people would be lying if they said they weren’t. I love all types and races and I believe that God put us all here together to just freakin get along for a while before we join Him in Heaven. I think its the least we can do, right?
I have a dream. A dream that one day, all different races will line up to pay for their purchases in a line with no segregation. A line that includes people of all colors and body types and clothing. A line where a black person can purchase mayonnaise, and a white person can buy….mayonnaise. Can we not all line up together!? Can we not turn this Ross into a culturally diverse and race appreciative store?!? Can we try?!? We did. The Missus and I stood tall in the face of prejudice, and we stood in the line with our fellow humans! We are changing the way things are done! We will not tolerate this any longer!
What happened after we got in the line? I’ll tell you, my rainbow colored plethora of fans and followers. This happened.

That’s right. Those are white people behind us. We did it! We have integrated the Ross at 71st and Memorial! This is the happiest day of my life! I know a good portion of the picture is my neck, but you have to look past the color of my neck meat and look at the color of the people in the right half of the picture! Oh! Glorious day! We do not wish to be looked upon as heroes, nor do we wish to be idolized in the African American culture. We are simply people. Brave and good people, who knew what this Ross needed. You are welcome, America. You’re welcome.
That Asain guy that checked us out sure looked at us funny though. Or did he? Their eyes always look funny, so I can never tell.

(I am so totally kidding on that last crack. So totally kidding. It was just for laughs.)