MASTERS OF TOMFOOLERY

“What flavor is that?” Holly asked.

         “I know, it’s not my usual, but every so often I like banana.

Don’t you ever get tired of the same old orange?” Olga responded.

         “Nope. If we’re at Baskin-Robbins, their orange popsicle is

always the best,” Holly replied flatly. “Just a matter of fact. I barely

have the wrapper off and it’s already melting!”

         It was a lazy Saturday afternoon in early June. It had been

hot; actually, very hot. In west Texas one learns to estimate the

heat index on the number of minutes it takes for a body to begin

wilting once outside the confines of an air-conditioned refuge.

Today was a four-minute day, and it easily justified the ice cream

 treats that they both were now enjoying.

         “Remember in second grade when the girls would argue over

whose dad was the strongest? Whose dad was most handsome, or

the smartest?” asked Olga.

         “Those were fun days!” Holly laughed.

         Father’s Day was rapidly approaching, and the thoughts of

dads and granddads were in the hot June air.

         As new members of the teenage odyssey, they would

occasionally look back, reminisce and laugh. Now that they were

all grown up this would still be done, but with a mature

perspective about it. The conversation took just this turn.

         “I remember what a master of tomfoolery our Dad was when

we were little. He still is! He had us believing that okra isn’t

allowed in New York. Television programs might show travelers

being security-screened at an airport. Dad said that they were

checking for people who might be trying to sneak okra onto a

New York bound flight. I was sure conned!” Olga said as she shook

her head.

         “What malarkey!” Holly exclaimed. “Dad told us that in

Rhode Island the ants were huge. When at a picnic, one could not

leave their sandwich unattended. Ants might suddenly appear and

march off with it!”

         “Just malarkey,” Olga remarked as she licked her ice cream

with rapid rhythm. 

         Holly giggled quickly, as the heat of the day was taking a toll

on the ice cream.

         “Remember when Amelia asked if ‘Mr. Ed’ could really talk?

Why of course, Dad had replied as a matter of fact. He’s a talking

horse, of course!” Olga said as she laughed.

         “Dad told us to be careful of red-headed people because

they can snarl!” Holly reminded.

         “How about the sandwiches?” Olga said. “Dad was always

ready to make us a bologna and cheese sandwich, without the

cheese. We would say that it would just be a bologna sandwich.

He would insist it was a bologna and cheese sandwich, but

without the cheese.”

         “Speaking of cheese,” Holly reminded. “Dad taught us to sing

‘Bringing in the Cheese.’ After months, Mom explained to us that it

was sheaves, and not cheese. Then Dad changed it to ‘Bringing in

the Chiefs'.”

         “Remember the man in the little square box? It was the size

of a square box of Kleenex,” Olga chuckled. "Dad told Amelia that a

man was stuck in the box, and he couldn’t figure out how to get

him out. Press the button in the back when no one was looking,

and walk away. After a few seconds the box would vibrate and

bounce up and down".

Holly anxiously added, "A man’s voice would plea, help me!

help me, get me out of here!”

         “In the car, remember putting your head between your

knees before entering under a bridge?” Holly asked. “Dad said if

we didn’t, we risked getting the hiccups. We were like ostriches!”

         “The curly fries at restaurants. So ridiculous! Each time Dad

ate one he would quietly, but noticeably, giggle. He claimed they

tickled going down,” Holly laughed as she spoke. “Mom would roll

her eyes. . . Just insanity.”

         “Don’t forget the napkin,” Olga interjected it. “He would roll

a paper napkin to a small point and then daintily blot a spot on his

lip with the small point.

           Holly took her paper napkin in her hand and rolled it to a

point. She made a quick, single blot to her lower lip.

         “It was insanity!” quipped Olga as she finished up her

rhythmic licking. “I heard at school that chocolate milk came from

brown cows. After school, I asked Dad if it was true.

“Why, of course it’s true! Where else would we get chocolate

milk?” he replied.

“When he took us to the zoo, I gave the brown cows double

treats,” Olga chuckled.

         They finished with the ice cream quickly as they compared

memories on this sultry Saturday afternoon. 

         “I have a juicy one for ya,” Olga perked. “One day when Dad

thought he was home alone, he calmly sauntered down the

hallway from the bathroom shower to the bedroom to get dressed.

No towel, no clothes, no nothing! Just as he reached his bedroom,

he caught a glimpse of me as I was leaving my room.”

Olga displayed a provocative glimmer in her eyes.

        “What did he say?” Holly asked anxiously.

        “Oh, nothing then, but later that night he told Mom that an

angry bee had chased him out of the bathroom and down the

hallway after his shower. Mom told me to stop leaving the

bathroom window open for our cat, Snowflake, to just come and

go as she pleased. Yep… I guess Mom never heard the accurate

version of it?”

         They both laughed.

         “Mom put up with a bunch of nonsense,” Olga stated.

         “Mom occasionally pulled nonsense, too!” Holly reminded.

“Remember her beloved cat, Bruiser. She would often tell us to be

especially nice to him. She reminded us that if she was to die, her

will stated that Bruiser would take charge of giving us our

allowances.”

         “Dad would occasionally tell people about the UPS truck

delivering a box of eggs to him. If they should inquire where they

came from . . .” Olga suddenly stopped.

         “From a chicken’s ass!” holly exclaimed.

         They both laughed heartily. 

They didn’t laugh alone, though!

         Dad was laughing as well, as he had memorized those

moments of the past. There was a long list of branded memories

etched into his brain. These stored memories would serve to

energize him over and over; may even be cause for him to just

laugh aloud when no apparent reason for his laugh had existed. He

had been taught a sense of humor early in his years, and he had

felt a responsibility to convey this gift to his daughters. He did

this well, but the tables had been starting to turn over time. His

long list would continue to grow while new, younger lists had

become manifest, and growing, as well…

         “I remember the time that I embarrassed Dad at the fancy

oceanfront restaurant,” Holly said with pride. “Do you remember

The Rock Crab and Salt Air restaurant? Anyway, I told the waiter

that I wanted to pick out my shrimps from the fish tank, and then

inquired about what vegetables were being served, as well. In a

loud voice I explained that I wouldn’t eat the shrimps, as I wanted

to save their lives. I will always remember that Dad left a big tip

for the waiter. All I ate were the green beans.”

         “Do you remember our fourth-grade teacher, Sister Mary

Malachy?” Olga asked with a broad smile. Dad called her Sister

Mary Malarkey when I was in her class.

         The following year I was in her class,” Holly laughed. Mom

told me about one parent-teacher meeting. Dad called her Sister

Mary Malachite.

         “No, Mr. Winston. I took the name of the first Irish saint and

not the mineral rock,” Sister said politely.

         “He had kidded us so much that he couldn’t keep the actual

name straight!” Olga chuckled.

It was now becoming a three-minute day.

       “How about the time we tricked Dad in the apple orchard?

Remember?” Olga asked with glee. “We put two onions and two

apples in the pail and bet him that he couldn’t eat everything in

the pail. He thought it only contained apples.  He did eat them all,

and then had halitosis for three days! It was well worth the bet,

though. Well worth it!”

         They laughed at the silliness of their fond memories. But

were they silly? No, as they helped to make them who they are.

         “Payback is sweet,” Holly remarked. She spoke as if the devil

was in her. The devil was in her!

It was obvious that Holly’s list was growing at a healthy pace.

Mom’s smile was growing wider, as well.

        As it occurred, it had all been just tomfoolery. But it all had

gone through a metamorphosis, like a caterpillar that becomes a

butterfly. The accumulation of nonsense had become a treasure,

like an old photograph, being enjoyed on a cold, snowy evening, or

on a hot summer day outside of an ice cream parlor.

         Before leaving Baskin-Robbins, Holly popped up with a

memory that had just been triggered.

         “Remember the time when we both had bad coughs and Dad

was at his wit’s end trying to get us to take cough syrup? We both

absolutely refused. Do you remember?” Holly asked.

         “Yep,” Olga asserted. “He told us that cough medicine tasted

great as a salad dressing. During dinner Dad poured it all over his

salad and ate it all with a smile on his face. Said it was delicious!

But we wouldn’t budge. No cough syrup for us, thank you! Sure, I

remember!”

         They left Baskin-Robbins, and, at 106 degrees, wilting would

commence in three minutes. It was early June, right on target.

         “I’m going to get Dad a six-pack of Coors Light,” Olga said.

         “I’m going to get Dad a six-pack of Michelob,” Holly

responded.

         Olga stopped and grabbed Holly’s arm.

         “Hey, instead, let’s together get Dad a six-pack of that fancy

German beer he likes?” Olga suggested.

         They both smiled and continued on their way. Their lists

were growing as they were maturing.

         “How are we going to buy this for his Father’s Day’s gift?”

Holly added. “We’re way underage.”

         “Have a great idea,” Olga blurted with a sparkle in her eyes and confidence in her

plan. “No problem. We’ll just trick Dad. We’ll get him to buy it for

himself. I’ll call Aunt Kathy. Dad’s sister will be happy to help us.

I’m sure of it!” Olga said with confidence. “She knows his style.”

         “I applaud you both for your enthusiasm,” Aunt Kathy said

carefully. “Hat’s off to both of you.” This will be taking things to a

new level. I say go for it. What’s good for the goose is good for the

gander. I’ll tell your Dad that he has a gift to pick up at the Daddy’s 

Spirits liquor store. He will think it is for me. I’ll let you know the

cost later.

         Dad entered the liquor store on the corner of Third and

Chestnut.

         “May I help you?” Zach asked Dad.

         “Yes, I have a package here waiting to be picked up. My

name is Winston. Mark Winston,” Dad explained.

         “Let me go to the back and get it for you,” Zach said. He took

a bite of his donut before placing it down on the counter.

         Mark turned to scan over the store.

         Zach quickly reached over, grabbing the donut as he made

his way to retrieve the package.

         Mark watched Zach as he returned to the counter with his

package. Obviously, a six-pack, but of what? He wouldn’t open the

bag unless Kathy invited him to do so. It might be that she wanted

it for a friend.

         At the counter Zach became enraged and started to swear.

         “They got it, darn it!” Zach screamed with irritation. It’s

those nasty Rhode Island ants again. They took my donut! Why

didn’t you stop them?

         “What?’ Mark said. “I didn’t see any ants take your donut.

Why, that is ridiculous!”, Mark replied in surprise.

         “Well, it’s only you and me in here right now. Well then, YOU

ate my donut!” Zach accused.

         “What?”, Mark said in disbelief.

         “Make amends right now,” Zach demanded.

         “Yes, you’re right. It was the ants. I saw them. I would have

stopped them, but they were the big ones from Rhode Island,”

Mark said calmly as he stood his ground.

         “You owe me $12.75,” Zach pitched, breathing hard.

         “For what?”, Mark asked.

         “For your package!” Zach said assertively.

         “Here,” Mark said as he pushed 13 bucks to Zach. “Keep the

change to buy yourself another donut.”

         Mark circumvented the wooden trap at the exit. A small sign

hung that said ‘CAREFUL, ANT TRAP’.

         “That place is insane!” Mark said out loud to no one.

         Zach didn’t hear his remark. He was still laughing.

         It was no longer Dad’s list that was growing at a healthy

pace. The tables had been turned!

         “Remind me to call Zach and thank him,” Holly requested of

Olga.

They both had excelled at the school of tomfoolery.

         “It’s damn hot.” Olga proclaimed. “Let’s go home, get cool,

and ask Dad if he’ll make us some of that refreshing iced

chamomile tea. He’s been pushing it for weeks now. He says it

stops warts from growing on your fingers!”

         Holly smirked as she came back with, “Maybe in New York it

does, but not in Texas!”

         To this day, Dad still smiles and often laughs, each time he

sees a brown cow.