05/11/07
The Rambling Man has many aliases. Some are common knowledge, while others must be kept top secret in the interest of national security. Even his parents didn’t know his real name. A top level government intelligence agency chose his parents (no one knows where he really came from). When The Rambling Man was only a few weeks old he was delivered to their home and they were told his name was to be Dennis. This was, of course, his “code” name, the name by which he is known to this day in international espionage circles. It is a little known fact that the Hank Ketchum cartoon character Dennis the Menace was patterned and named after The Rambling Man. In an ironic twist of fate The Rambling Man, at the age of five, was entered into a newspaper contest to find the boy most like the cartoon Dennis the Menace in the St. Louis area. And sure enough, The Rambling Man (Dennis) won the contest. It was rumored at the time that there was behind the scenes government intervention (the names Harry Truman and J. Edgar Hoover were mentioned) but it was never proven. The rules of the contest stated that each contestant had to have exhibited some of the same traits that made the cartoon character such a menace. Each contestant’s parents were to send in a story about their little darling which portrayed him as a Dennis the Menace type. (Author’s note: I am sure it is quite obvious to my readers that this took place in a time fondly known as “The good old days” when boys and girls were allowed to be different. Since, in those days, girls could not possibly have been anything like Dennis the Menace none were allowed to enter the contest. And you know what? Nobody complained or filed a lawsuit claiming discrimination. As I said, it was the good old days.) The (true) winning story about The Rambling Man went something like this.
Since this occurred in the early 1950’s it was a time before computers, Ipods and Xbox games so children had little choice but to play outdoors in the non-polluted fresh air and non-cancer-causing sunshine. An ancient pastime for children in those bygone days was to catch insects. The hi-tech, state of the art apparatus used for this endeavor was known as a “Mason Jar”. Butterflies, ants and crickets posed little, if any, true challenge so a stalwart few children, in search of danger, chose to capture honey bees instead. Honey bees were The Rambling Man’s specialty. One warm summer day The Rambling Man set an all-time neighborhood record (which still stands to this day) by imprisoning 47 bees in one Mason jar. Excited by setting the record he went into the house to show his captives to his mother. As was usually the case his mother was occupied with her daily routine of cooking, cleaning and caring for The Rambling Man’s infant sister. Try as he might he could not get her to pay the attention he felt was warranted by his feat. He decided the reason for her apathy had to be because she was unable to hear the incessant buzzing being put forth by the infuriated bees in the jar. Being the considerate young lad that he was, he did what any considerate young lad would do. Standing behind his disinterested mother he removed the lid from the jar so she would be better able to hear the buzzing. His mother was completely unaware of this until all 47 of the furious bees had exited the jar and were buzzing around the kitchen seeking someone to exact revenge upon. That was the day we both learned that a dishtowel is no defense against angry bees. Now you see why The Rambling Man won the Dennis the Menace contest.
This reminds The Rambling Man of another story involving his parents.
A few years ago The Rambling Man was visiting his parents at their palatial estate. The afternoon was pleasantly passed with small talk which, like most families, usually involved making fun of relatives. As the time drew near for The Rambling Man to return home, my father turned to my mother and asked, “Are you going to give him that bottle of tequila?” Since The Rambling Man is a big fan of tequila his interest was piqued. “No, I’m not.” was my mother’s strange reply. My question was, of course, “What bottle of tequila?” My father went on to explain that he had won a fundraising raffle and the prize was a large basket filled with Mexican food and drink items, one of which was a bottle of tequila to be used to make margaritas. Since neither of my parents had ever had a margarita, much less a shot of tequila, I couldn’t imagine why she wouldn’t give the bottle to me. “But mom” I said “why won’t you give me the bottle of tequila?” She matter-of-factly stated, “Because it’s spoiled.” Now, like The Rambling Man I am sure most of my readers know that a bottle of liquor won’t “spoil”. It might evaporate, but spoilage is not an issue. Out of curiosity I asked, “How can you tell it’s spoiled?” To which she replied, “Because it has a worm in it.” I paused briefly to see if she was putting me on. She wasn’t. Following a long and detailed explanation of the tradition of placing an agave worm in bottles of tequila (I decided to not tell her about the tradition of eating the worm at the end of the bottle) she finally relented and said I could take the bottle of tequila. But, only after I swore to her I would not break the seal on the bottle until I was safely at home. Apparently she thought I might break open the bottle and go after the worm on the drive home. She knew me too well.
This Sunday is Mother’s Day. I am sure all of my readers have similar stories concerning their respective mothers. Please take the time to remember some of those stories. If you have the chance, remind her of when they happened. If you have the chance, smile and give your mother a hug. If you are unable to do that, call her and tell her one of those stories. And if, like me, you are unable to do either one, just stop for a moment on Sunday and remember a story about your “Mom”. Both you and she will be the better for it.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!