I Deserve A Moon Pie Today!

Published: Thursday, October 4, 2012 at 11:03 AM.

Forty-seven per cent! That’s almost half!

And that’s about the way Daddy divided up the work. Since Leon was twice as old as David and I, Dad allowed that Leon ought to be responsible for half of the work around the house. He’d send us out to mow the yard, clean the fence row or shovel out a pen and he expected Leon to lead the way. Before Daddy could get out of sight, Leon would be back on the porch eating a Moon Pie and yelling at us to get that mower moving faster. He was “directing” from afar while Dave and I were pulling weeds with our bare hands. I think the thing that still galls me to this day is that second Moon Pie Leon opened was mine!

Daddy would get home late in the afternoon with the work not finished. He would be mad as a wet hornet in a tipped over nest! Leon, of course, quickly and loudly blamed it on me and Dave. “Kesley didn’t want to get his hands dirty. David is too small. I had a gastronomical attack and had to rest a minute. The sun got in my eyes. The hens laid some eggs in the back yard and naturally we couldn’t mow all the way out to them. A space ship landed beside the clothes line and these little green men…..”

It didn’t matter how you said it, defended it, made excuses for it, blamed it on the other fellow or what actually was the root cause. At the end of the day, the work hadn’t been done! A couple of weeks of similar action and the weeds overtook the roses. 

Me and John Ingram, Marlin Hicks, Eddie Carden, Wesley Beal, Billy Barksdale and Danny Leatherwood would line up at football practice to push the seven man sled. Listen, that thing weighed three and a half tons; more if it was late in practice after we’d run ten hundred wind sprints! And on a Monday after a loss, it was like being in the Twilight Zone—that sled added weight in direct proportion as to how bad we had gotten beat Friday night.

It was tough to move even if all seven of us were working our legs like little pistons! Coach Scott would be eating that whistle if we didn’t have that thing flying across the back side of the practice field. If Eddie laid out on us and only pretended to push, we could still keep going. If Wesley joined him it slowed the process but we could still manage, barely. When Marlin quit we were down to four guys pushing that septem headed edifice. We slowed to a crawl……and every leg muscle I had was screaming no mas! With just barely over fifty percent now pushing the load we were clearly in a battle we could not win. The soft mud caused by water running off the tennis courts did us in. We ground to a halt. No amount of shouting, fussing, cussing, stomping or encouragement could get us moving again.

It was too late for help. No last second bailout could get that thing started again. Marlin and Eddie might have seen the error of their ways but the horse was out of the barn. And it didn’t matter that Danny, John, Billy and me had done our part, and then some! We went down with the ship.

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