Stories My Family Told Me

No Laughing Matter

2006-09-12T23:18:00.000-05:00

Before shipping out, my grandfather ducked into a pawn shop and purchased two .38 caliber Smith & Wesson revolvers in armpit holsters. On his first night in Africa, he was posted on guard duty at the ammunition depot. A solid round from a weapon such as a pistol could easily set off all the ammo in the depot, so only shotguns were allowed in that area. Nobody ever mentioned this to Granddad.

He had the intended 12 gauge shotgun, his Smith & Wessons, his issued .45 caliber Colt sidearm, and just for good measure, a Thompson Sub-Machine gun (the one mobsters pull out of violin cases) with a 250 round drum magazine.

Around 2am, a hyena laughed at him, and took off up a tree. Yes, hyenas can climb trees. He issued a 'stand and be recognized' order but got no response, so he thought it was an enemy soldier. He opened fire with his sidearm, both revolvers, the machine gun, and the shotgun. The camp thought they were under full attack!

He was in the process of reloading the Tommy before someone ordered him to stand down. When he was finally calm enough, they went to find the remains of the intruder. There were only small pieces of fur left to identify what he had shot. His commanding officer remarked that it was perfectly clear how my grandfather got his Expert Marksmanship medal, because he figured that he had hit that hyena with every shot that he had fired: 9 rounds from the .45, 12 rounds from the Smith & Wessons, 250 from the Tommy gun, and 5 from the shotgun!

The guy who put a rookie on post in the ammo supply without proper instruction was in serious trouble, but Granddad never got much out of it, aside of the satisfaction of anhilating his intruder!

Gun Safety

2006-09-12T23:15:00.000-05:00

When I was about 10 years old, my father had to take a pistol safety class in order to get a permit to carry a firearm. Class was in the local VFW and instructed by a friend of the family. Since there was no one available to watch me, I went with Dad and got the 'sit there and be quiet' routine. I had brought a half dozen crayons with me, but had not thought to bring paper. While the instructor gave his lesson, he picked a few sheets of paper up from the end of the 16 foot long table that was buried in handguns, and dropped them on the desk in front of me. There was something printed on one side, so I ignored it, turning the paper over and colouring on the other side.

When his lessons were concluded, he handed out the test papers from the same stack. Being an observant child, I realized that he had handed me extra tests to draw on. Out of boredom, I flipped over one of my drawings and took the test myself. When everyone had finished writing, I collected the tests for the instructor. He took a minute or two to correct them, since pnly those who passed the written test would be allowed to participate in the hands-on portion of the class.

He smiled widely as he gave the results. The highest scoring test in the room- with only a single incorrect answer- had no name on it. He interrogated his class to see who had forgotten to write their name, but this was a moot point, as the test had been filled out in crayon.

Told Ya So

2006-09-12T23:10:00.000-05:00

I went to a Catholic school up until second grade. One day, we had a guest come in to teach us about Indians. Little did he know that my parents had introduced me to colonial reenacting and 18th century life, and had been participating since before I was born!

Part of his discussion was showing how to start a fire using only flint and steel. As he did so, I corrected him on how it was actually done. The guest speaker looked directly at me, pursed his lips, and incorrectly continued his demonstration.

I shook my head, and remarked aloud once more, "No, that's not right."

He looked up sharply and groused, "Okay, if you know so much about how it's done, why don't you come up and show me!"

So I set Sister Regina's desk on fire!

Chicken-Rice Cake

2006-08-09T09:50:00.000-05:00

Mom and Dad had decided to have chicken and rice soup for dinner one night. The chicken had been left to simmer down for a while when Dad passed through the kitchen and decided to add the rice. A few minutes later, Mom passed through the kitchen and decided to add the rice, since Dad never mentioned that he already had. Dad wandered back into the kitchen, looked into the pot, and decided there wasn't enough rice, so he added more. Mom remembered how much rice she had previously added and decided that wasn't enough. Without looking into the pot, she added more, locked the pressure lid down, set the jiggler and the timer, then left the room. As they sat down to watch a movie, their dinner continued cooking.

BANG! Thok, thok, thok ...

The massive amount of rice that had been added caused the jiggler to shoot off of the top of the pot. The rice was being fired through the open vent with such force that it was splattering across and sticking to the once-clean surface of the ceiling. There was a large glob that fell back down from the ceiling and landed on the top of the pressure cooker, whose hot surface causes the moist rice-pudding-ball to explode. Rice was everywhere. After a few moments of disbelief, Dad tossed a dishrag over the pot and took it off the heat. When the pot had stopped trying to launch rice and was cool enough to open, all that could be seen was rice. There was so much rice packed into that little pot that the brand of the pressure cooker could be read on the top of the world's first "Presto Chicken-Rice Cake".

Dog Food, Part II

2006-08-08T13:42:00.000-05:00

Once a dog has been deprived of food and water, he will never forget the experience, and will likely be paranoid about it for the rest of their lives. One way you can cure that attitude is to make sure food is put out for him on a strict schedule. Unfortunately, sometimes humans don't adhere to any sort of schedule, much less a strict one. Dogs, however, will be there, waiting impatiently, because there is only now to a dog.

Mom and I had gone out to run some errands. Going grocery shopping wasn't one of them, but we passed by the store and we needed to restock the refridgerator. Having two sons will make that necessary on a regular basis. As we were filling up our cart, lunchtime passed us by. Not by that much, mind you; we were only half of an hour late getting home.

On the way in the door, I bumped into Mom, dropping about half of the groceries I had been laden down with. My mouth snapped shut on the unwise thing I was about to say when I saw why she had stopped so suddenly. Mom's shoes had stopped just before stepping into some kind of white powder that had been spread all over the kitchen. Stepping around her, I saw that the five-pound bag of flour that had been on the floor was now only a half-pound, the bag eaten down to the level of what was left.

We looked at each other, confused about how exactly this had occurred, until Duke came trotting around the corner. His eyebrows, snout, and chin were covered in flour. Just then, my brother arrived home from work and walked in on our white, silent scene.

"What the ..?" he began. Duke was standing in front of me, just out of view.

"Duke ate the flour," I said.

Never one to miss an opportunity, he promptly quipped, "Let's give him some water, he'll shit biscuits for a month!"

"Feed him some beans, we'll lose him in the cloud!" Well, I couldn't let my brother have all the fun.

Mom just rolled her eyes and left us to clean up.

Dog Food, Part I

2006-08-01T01:06:00.000-05:00

Our neighbors decided to up and move out one day, and among the things they left behind was a german shepherd. He was still chained to a tree on about three feet of chain, and wasn't really inclined to barking or whining. It was about a week before we realized that the poor thing had been left behind.

We organized an expedition, planning out different strategies to handle a possibly frightened and/or vicious dog, and crossed the fenceline. What was left of his chain was too rusty to use, and he was really a very friendly dog, so we locked him in our cellar while we all went out to the hardware store to get him a new chain. (Don't worry, folks, our cellar is a happy little kid-safe workshop.) While we were paying for the chain, we realized that our new dog would also need to eat, so our next destination was the grocery store.

We were surprised to see him staring at us out the kitchen window when we returned to our yard. Everyone argued with each other that somebody forgot to close the cellar door, but we were all sure it was closed when we left. Mom was the first one up the stairs. Unlocking the door and opening it, we all saw what had happened.

Six square feet of kitchen floor was half of an inch deep in sawdust. Not woodchips, or even shavings, just dust. In the middle of the pile stood the german shepherd, tail wagging and tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, happy to see us. Between the dog's two front paws, half-buried in the dust, was the cellar doorknob. The full width of the 36-inch hollow-core door had literally been pulverized, from just above the doorknob to the floor. The only thing left of the door was the spine, where the hinges attach, and of course the top part that he couldn't reach. I'm sure he would have shredded the rest of the door if he had something to stand on.

We named him Duke.

Ignorance is Bliss

2006-07-26T14:17:00.000-05:00

My parents were at the drive-in theatre one night, in that long ago time when the drive-in was the place to be on friday night. The movie playing was so good that they actually paid attention to it instead of necking like a couple of teenagers. Of course, in the middle of the movie, one of them had to use the bathroom.

Neither of them would tell me which one, exactly, so we'll blame it on Dad.

Some time later, my dad reached carefully out the window and placed a sloshing, steaming popcorn bucket on the ground beside the car. Relieved, they returned to watching the movie. Another couple wasn't so uninhibited, however, and one of them went rushing by to the bathroom.

On his way back, he stumbled on the uneven ground, and caught himself on the door of my parents' car. Apologizing, he continued on his way, cursing his clumsiness and lack of night vision. Hopping into his nice convertible, he remarked to his partner "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear I just steped in a bucket of piss."

Mom's eyes went wide as her hand flew to her mouth. Dad bit his knuckles to keep from laughing, a tear squeezing out the corner of his eye.

I wonder how my dad was planning to dispose of that popcorn bucket when the movie was over.

Self Control

2006-07-18T21:24:00.000-05:00

Empty soda bottles make a very distinctive sound when crashing across the floor. It's a sound that most people recognize; a sort of hollow, bouncing sound mixed with a sharp thunk. My mother, my father, and I, were all sitting in our living room, watching a movie, when we heard that very specific sound - not just once, but enough for an entire battalion of bottles to be attacking the floor.

My mom looked at me, I looked at my dad, and my dad looked at mom. My mom looked at my dad, my dad looked at me, and I looked at my mom...

Well, we all exchanged glances.

We got up and walked into the kitchen to see where the sound came from, since that's where all of the bottles were stored. As we entered the kitchen, it became very clear where the sound came from. My older brother was laying flat on his back in the snow angel position, amid three bags of empty soda bottles (we recycle them in our little northern state). He looked up at us, dazed and blinking in confusion.

"Well?" my father demanded, hooking a hand on his hip.

My brother shrugged, "I had the hiccups."

It must take a lot of self control to hold your breath until you pass out.

The Rustoleum Rocket

2006-06-12T11:11:00.000-05:00

My brother used to drive a 1972 Chevelle SS. It was pristine on one side, and every color Rustoleum ever made on the other side. He and my grandfather worked for weeks on end, tuning it to perfection in our dirt driveway. It wasn't exactly professional, but under the hood, that car was a beast of a machine. Naturally, a beast of any sort feels the need to show off now and again, including my brother.

We drove a hundred miles away to a particular drag strip, overheating and sputtering, cursing and sweating, during the hottest part of the day, which also happened to be during rush hour. Finally arriving within an inch of the poor, mistreated car's life, I rush to the top of the stands while my brother waits for his turn at the strip. The top is the best view, since you can see the entire track from a vantage point where you can calculate distance, rather than just seeing the cars get smaller as fast as they can.

Settling myself down comfortably, which isn't easy on a slab of hot metal, a group of five nasty Puerto Ricans jostle each other and laugh their way up to the bench below mine. I'm not making a racial slur here, they were actually being nasty; badmouthing all of the cars that arrived at the starting line, whether they were funny-car freaks out for a good run or professional drag racers making the final day-before-the-race tweaks.

Of course, as much as I wanted to say something, I wasn't about to risk seeing a closer view of the knives a couple of them were absently flicking. As my brother pulled up to the line, the engine sputtered, still somewhat overheated. That encouraged bursts of laughter and new speculations about which junkyard his car came from. When the lights went green, my brother stomped the gas, and the car performed a pretty good takeoff until the intake manifold burned through the positive battery cable.

The group laughed even harder, pointing at the disabled car, "Look at that piece of shit ..."

When the car lurched from the sudden absence of power, the cable disengaged from the manifold. My brother pop-started the car and gunned the engine mercilessly, laying down rubber in a frantic effort to catch up to the car in the other lane.

"... Go?" All of their heads swiveled, following the Rustoleum Rocket on to its miraculous victory. It took less than 14 seconds to complete the quarter-mile race.

Nature Takes Its Course

2006-06-12T11:10:00.000-05:00

There are one-time jokes, and then there are jokes that last a lifetime. This is one of the jokes that makes the rounds in our family:

A salesman was driving down the road, and suddenly realized he had to use the bathroom. So, he pulled over at a field and did his business into a patch of buttercups. Mother Nature ran out of the nearby woods, screaming at him, "You nasty boy! Why did you do that on my sweet buttercups! Just for that, you won't have any butter for a year!" The man was very sorry, and apologized profusely. Eventually, she left, and he returned to his car with a sigh of relief, thinking to himself, "Man, I'm glad it wasn't pussywillow."

It's one of those dirty little jokes that's usually safe to say around children, because they have no idea why the joke is funny. When a child is six, however, they tend to repeat everything they hear, when they aren't trying to pretend that they can't hear you. So, one of the children was always trying to repeat this joke, but was never successful. It was fun to listen to the new direction the joke took every time he started it.

One Easter Sunday, when everyone was gathered at the table, the usual range of jokes began. He piped up with this joke, and to our horror, this was the one time he ever had gotten it right. Not only was he successful, it had turned into one of those magical moments when everybody becomes silent, seemingly just for the most embarassing thing to be said very loudly. His parents turned bright red, as everyone looked around, wondering what they were supposed to do, when his uncle burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that tears were streaming down his face.

And dinner resumed as usual.

Wrong Number

2006-06-12T11:08:00.000-05:00

It's about three o' clock in the morning, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring ...

BRRRRRING!

Except for a phone. You know, those old-type phones with actual bells in them that could double as a school's bell for changing classes.

He groped around sleepily, until his hand knocked the phone over. "H-Hello?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, Beckham Deli? I need a hundred pounds of thinly sliced corned beef, a hundred pounds of thickly sliced ham, a hun..."

He coughed, interrupting the slick businessman voice on the other end of the line, "I think you've got the wrong number." Having been so rudely woken from sleep, he hung up without waiting for a reply. He settled back into his soft, inviting pillow.

BRRRRRING!

Sighing with a curse under his breath, he picked up the phone again.

"Yes, Beckham Del-"

"NO!" he exclaimed. "You've got the wrong number again! Just what number is it that you're trying to call?"

The slick businessman's voice quavered a little bit, speaking quickly. "Look mister, I'm sorry, I'm just trying to get the Beckham Deli on the phone."

He sighed, rubbing at his temple. Obviously, this guy wasn't the brightest bulb on the tree. "But what is their phone number?"

The businessman explained, less slickly, and it turned out that he was dialing the wrong area code. The deli he was trying to call was in California, and he was waking a guy up in Connecticut! Well, at least both states start with the letter 'C'.

"Alright, sonny, next time you dial the phone number, dial it slower and watch your fingers. Make sure you don't switch those numbers around this time!" He hung the phone up, settling back into his pillow once more.

SNXXXXXGH!

Any man that can sleep though that awful kind of sound coming out of his own head ought to be able to sleep through a somewhat quieter phone ringing. He slept peacefully, if noisily, for another hour.

BRRRRRING!

Eyes popping open, he grumbled to himself as he snatched the handset from its cradle. "Hello?" he demanded.

"Yes, Beckham Deli? I need a hundred pounds of thinly sliced corned beef, a hundred pounds of thickly sliced ham, a hundred boxes of crackers, and fifty gallons of fruit punch."

Affecting an accent, he replied, "A-ight, hunner poun's of thin corn'd beef, hunner poun's of thick ham, hunner boxes of crackers, fidy gall'ns of fruit punch. That all?"

"Yes. Have it delivered to my office by noon."

"Got it."

He smiled, hanging up, having solved the problem once and for all.