Thursday, April 19, 2012
Every now and then when me and Mel are in a store somewhere, somebody will walk up and say, ďArenít you the guy who writes for the paper?Ē And after we talk a minute or two, and they walk off, Mel will turn to me and say, ďWell I guess weíre going to have a hard time getting your swelled head back in the car.Ē You would think that her being able to accompany a world famous columnist would make her realize how lucky she is, it would make her grateful. But nooo, her idea of paying homage to me for the status she gained is to remind me to pick my socks up, ďYour feet were in them, Iím not touching them.Ē When Iím deep in thought for my next coming endeavor, her way of assisting my intellectual thought process is to tell me if I donít get out of that chair the next column from me will be my obituary.
Thatís like one time we were at a store in Gtown and a lady asked her when she was writing a check if she was kin to me, her first reaction was, whatís he done now? Then the lady said she would like to meet me, ďSee that bald headed guy over there with the cane, thaaatís him!Ē
But I guess itís my fault, when I started years ago, I got a good piece of advice from a book I read, ďIf youíre going to write, write what you know.Ē So thatís why I write about family and things that have happened in my life. But the thing of it is, the things I write about pretty well happen to all of us. We all have families, and in our daily lives we all find things to laugh about and sometimes shed a tear. But Iím just the nut in the paper who tells the whole county how he screwed up. Many is the time one of the kids will come home and somebody will have asked them, ďDid that really happen?Ē And all they can say is ďThatís my Daddy, heís sort of special, if you now what I meanĒ.
But did you know that writing a column can give you a bad reputation, itís true. Just about anytime somebody introduces me to somebody the first thing they say is, watch out, he writes for the paper. Like Iím sitting there with a pad and pencil waiting for you to slip up. I donít do that, well that is if I canít figure out an angle for a column that is. Thatís like the other week when I wrote about the wedding gift a groom got, remember the goat? When my cousin, The Bandit, was asking his buddy if he read it, he started laughing and he said he did. ďBut whoís the Bandit?Ē my cousin laughed and said ďItís ME!í See there I protect my sources.
But through the years I have put Mel, Jessie and KT through the wringer. A man living in a house full of women has plenty of material. I guess it comes from being raised in a house full of boys. Back then girls were mythical creatures, Ladies you donít know how much effort it took guys who had never been around girls when they were growing up to ask you out. Back in our day girls didnít hunt and fish, if you asked a girl out by saying ďYou want to go catch a bass?Ē well if they would even speak to you, they probably would ask if you were crazy. Now a days itís different, females of the species hunt and fish as much as the males. And itís taking a while for my generation to catch up with the idea.
Iíll give you a prime example; several years ago one of the girls went to the movies with a group of girls and one of the Moms. Several hours later, some strange 12-year-old comes flying in my door, runs in front of my chair, and starts turning circles under the ceiling fan. Now if that had been back when we lived with my folks with a house full of boys, Daddy would have called the looney bin. But now I live with a house full of females, so I said, ďFirst door on the right honey.Ē Back then when I was little I didnít know little girls even used the bathroom, but I have evolved.
But if you have followed me at all, you have probably noticed that like most columnists, I try to do one of three things: make you laugh, cry, or think. Well not really cry, nobody does that on purpose, maybe feel would be a better way of saying it. Laugh, we all need that, feel, youíre not alone, we have all been through the same things, and think, lest we forget the things that are important. Thatís why I donít mind when Mel and the kids give me the devil every now and then. They are the first to read them, and a lot of times itís about them, and our family stories arenít that much different that anybody elseís.
The only difference is you donít have a nut for a husband and a Daddy writing for the Georgetown Times.
You can reach Robbin by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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