A Funny Story

[Bibbyman]

We've got an old, prominent family around here that was among the first settlers.  I know a number of brothers in this one branch of the family – all are well over retirement age now.  

One told that they went barefooted all the time when they were young.  He said their feet were so tough, they at just after sundown they would run down the gravel road and slide on the gravel just to see the sparks fly from under their feet.  And back then we used creek gravel what was a mixture of all types of rock – including flint, granite, and such.

[Tom]

In 1963 I was fishing for Snook in my home town of Ft. Pierce, Florida.  A Snook is a large game fish with delicious white meat .likened to Speckled Perch (Crappie).  He is long and slender with a powerful tail, a large mouth with no teeth but sharp gill plates.  He is silver in color with a single thin black line that runs down his lateral line from just behind his gills to his tail.
  
We were fishing for meat.  Fun was secondary.  Fish was a staple to us and we only fished for fun once we had our freezers filled.  We young bucks were responsible for filling the freezers of several families.

The limit was 4 per day and the minimum size was 18 inches.  we usually threw back anything less than 10 lbs and were looking for fish in the 25 to 30 lb range.

I snatched several glass minnows on a small treble hook out of a minnow bank  and threw it about 10 feet off of the jetty rocks into the ocean just outside of the surf.  

There were Jack Crevalle, Blue Runners, Flounder, Lady Fish, Spanish Mackerel, King Mackerel, Bonita and an occasional Shark feeding in a frenzy all up and down the Jetty.

Something grabbed my hook and took off South.  My reel, a Penn Squidder loaded with 15 lb line, screamed and smoked.  Whatever it was didn't run and stop,  it was leaving the country.  The only thing I could think it may be was a Bonito but this fish was following the beach and Bonito usually went to deep water.

After what amounted to about 10 minutes, felt like 10 hours, he stopped and I started reeling him in .  It was just a dead weight and I could see him on the surface of the water.  I would pump and reel, pump and reel.  Finally I got him to the Jetties and found that I had caught a 6 lb Snook by the tail.  There wasn't a hook in him.  

He had struck at the minnows and missed, the treble hook had wrapped around him, back onto the line  and lassoed his tail.  That's why I couldn't stop him.  He had run until he could run no more......I turned him loose,  What spirit.

...............and that's the truth.

Here's where it happened and this is what it looked like 38 years ago(except for the color of the old slide).........and yep, that's me.

[CHARLIE]

Back in about '75, I was fishing for striped bass at the base of the Oronoco Power Dam using a little yellow jig. It was getting dark so I decided to make one last cast. All of a sudden, something hit and started stripping my line out. I had visions of a 15 pound Northern. I tightened the drag and it took me forever to fight that fish to shore. It turned out to be a 5 pound carp that the hook had snagged in the tailfin. We were both plumb tuckered out. What a fight that was though. We weren't supposed to turn carp loose, but I figured that one had earned another chance.

[CHARLIE]

WORKING WITH TOM :-/

This story is what I really started out to tell before I got sidetracked with that fish story. Anyway, I'm what used to be called a "pencil pusher" but since we don't use pencils anymore, I reckon I'm a "keyboard pounder" which equates to not being in the best of shape.

My Sweetwife had a business trip to Orlando, so I took the opportunity to fly down with her and visit Old Tom and work a couple of days as his helper.

After a good breakfast we climbed up into his big flatbed truck (has a grab bar to help get up into it). The temp was 95 degrees (no shade, cause the trees were now logs)and high humidity.

Tom started sawing and I was pulling the slabs and boards off the mill. Dang it, that was hard work when the man only cuts 2 bys. I said, "Tom, don't you ever cut any 1 bys?" "Nope" Tom says, "Not if I can help it. Ya get more board feet with less cuts that way" I'm thinking..."Sheeesh these green 16' 2" X 12"'s?" are heavy. I was drenched with sweat. It was dripping from the bill of my cap.

At 1:00pm Tom says, "Let's break for lunch." I had visions of climbing into that truck, driving into town and having a burger and a taaaall glass of ice tea with ice chickling around inside. But instead, Tom looked under the seat of his truck, threw his son a can of corn, threw me a can of peas and he took a can of sliced peaches.

We opened the cans and Tom and his son took their spoons and went over and sat on the front end loader on the tractor. I said, "Tom, you got a spoon?" Tom said, "Nope, you'll have to carve yourself one." and threw me his knife. I selected a piece of pine and carved a fine spoon and went over to the front end loader (still out in the hot sun).

I ate the peas and said, "Tom, is this all you got?" Tom says, "Yep, If'n ya eat too much you won't want to work." I'm thinking....For what I'm getting paid, I don't see that as a problem. After a 15 minute lunch Tom says, "Well boys, lets get back at it. He sawed 16' 2 X 12s 'til 5:00pm before he said, "Let's go home."

Now I tell ya...I was one wet whupped puppy and my arms felt like they were 6' long. I was so tired I could hardly climb up into that big truck.  While he was driving home, I got all stiffened up.

He stopped at his mailbox (which is dang near a mile from his house) and said, "Would you get the mail?" I looked at him like he was nuts! He was actually asking me to move! Geeeez that was tough climbing down, getting the mail and climbing back up. Then, to top it off, when we got to his house, Tom proceeded to give me a lesson on how to sharpen a chainsaw. Of course the lesson was out in the hot sun standing next to the back of the truck and all I wanted to do was sit down and not move.

I was dieing at this point. But all in all it turned out pretty nice. He built a fire and threw on a 5 pound chunk of meat. While it cooked, we sipped on a pint of Jack, chased grasshoppers and fed 'em to the fish.

That Christmas Tom sent me my wooden spoon, framed in a thick chunk of aromatic cedar and labeled..."Pea Spoon". It's hanging in my office. Whew. Now I'm tired just thinking about that day. By the way, the next day was a repeat. I was glad to get back to my workplace so I could rest. :-[ :D :

[Jeff]

Tom told me if I ever ventured down there, we would go fish'n!

[RavioliKid]

Charlie,

What a story! Have you ever accepted another invitation from Tom?

I'd think twice!

 :D

[CHARLIE]

Yeah, I think I was down there once after that, but I didn't offer to help him saw wood. Instead, he took me up into South Georgia to show me some 20" plus wide Longleaf pine boards he had sawn for Doctor's lodge by a river. Amazing! We then did a little looking around an old 1800's homesite with his metal detector for fun and also found the Doctor's key to his lodge that he'd lost a couple of years earlier. Tom left that in an envelope in the lodge. Then, we went to a restaurant in a tiny town that had the best buffet I've ever seen. Everything fresh, nothing overcooked. Only problem with it was that I ate too much. :

[Bibbyman]

Charlie's story about helping Tom and his elegant lunch reminded me of my youthful days when I helped dad in the stave timber.

Day after day, week after week, year after year, lunch was the same: a half loaf of Wonder sandwich bread,  a can of Treet (like Spam), small can of Van-Camp pork and beans, and a 16-oz, glass bottle of Coke.  The only variation allowed was that sometimes we'd split a package of snowball cakes for dessert.

On the really hot days,  I'd wrap the bottle of Coke with a rag and wet it in a stream or with water out of the jug.  The evaporation of the water would cool it at least to below body temperature.  

Come dinner time (12 noon for our northerners friends) dad would dig out his pocketknife and wipe the blade on his pants leg in some clean place and slice the Treet – using the plastic bread sack for a carving plate. He'd take two slices and make one sandwich for himself.  I was a growing boy and I'd eat the rest.  We seldom had a bottle opener – we'd just find a sharp edge on the bumper or door latch and set the edge of the cap on it and bump it with a fist.  The beans were divided into the can the Treet came out of.  Sometimes we'd forget spoons so we'd eat the beans with a bent lid and the Treet can lid – carefully!  

I've eaten many a lunch in the thick of the forest on insufferable hot days with sweat and grime and flies and bugs.  Hands grimy from black off the tractor steering wheel,  bar oil, chainsaw gas and dirt.  But when you're hungry,  it tasted good.  And you didn't miss the elegant china, a dozen pieces of flatware and fancy napkins.

If you read my earlier post about the meal Mrs. Fergurson fixed for us in the middle of the night long ago, you remember the list of fancy restaurants I've eaten in.  I've often set with a group of men at these tables and listened to them complain that they couldn't chouse between the lobster and the Prime Rib – nothing looked good.  I've often smiled inside thinking of my meals "al-fresco" with dad and thought: "I'd bet if you'd been working all morning in the hot, humid woods even Treet on Wonder bread served of a stump would taste real good."
 8)

[Tom]

OH yeah, I've been there.....both places.  I think the spam and coke tasted better than the lobster in the Air conditioning.  

A 10 minute rest in the woods feels better than the Office politics after a "corporate" dinner too.

[CHARLIE]

SEEEEE! WhadItellya! Did ya read Tom's note? He said 10 minute lunch break. I even gave him the benefit of the doubt and said 15 minutes. SHEESH! A slave driver! And SPAM?  Don't let him kid ya, I didn't see any SPAM.....just peas, corn, and sliced peaches.....unless he was hoarding that SPAM for himself.

By the way, Hormel makes SPAM and their main plant is in Austin, Minnesota about a 40 minute drive from Rochester (SE Minnesota). Every year they have SPAM Days and if you want you can eat SPAM 24 ways from Sunday. Oooooooeeeee. Is that good? I'm not so sure.

Bibbyman, I enjoyed your stories about the best meal and your meals in the woods when working with your Dad. I've had a few like that. Ya just don't worry about your hands and wiping the knife on the pants is sort of a gesture.

Jeff, if Tom told you he'd take you fishing.....he will. He's a natural fisherman and a lot better at it than I'd ever be. He can clean about 3 fish to my one too......or maybe I just clean fish slow so he cleans more....I wonder which it is?    :   I wish you'd go on down there and make him take you fishing. I think Tom has forgot that a guy should take a break from work. I bet he hasn't been fishing in a long time. :-/

[Tom]

I was about 9 years old and Granddaddy had given me my first gun. A Winchester single shot 410 made in the 1890's. He would give me one #8 shell and send me out in the field hunting.  When I shot that one I would hike back to where he was working and he would give me another one.

My cousin form Orlando came to visit one weekend and we were hunting out at the farm.  Because John was a little older and much more firearm knowledgable, Granddaddy gave me 3 or 4 shells.

I shot a dove from the power line that crossed the property and ran over to pick it up.

"John! It's still alive...should I shoot it again?"
John was 50 yards or better from me and said "Yeah, I guess so".

BOOM...........!

The bird couldn't have been 10 feet from me and the 410 was full choke.  There was nothing but a dusting of feathers coming back down from about 6 feet.

That was quite a lesson.  I found out just how destructive a little 410 could be.

Gun's didn't do that in the cowboy movies.

[CHARLIE]

I remember that one.  I always taught my son to respect the power of a gun. They have a  good program here in Minnesota where they require children to take a gun safety class before they can go hunting. According to my son, they show a movie that graphically shows what guns can do to careless people...and that left an imprint on his mind. Every state should require children to take a gun safety class even if they don't plan to hunt.

Earlier, Bibbyman told of his lunches of Treet sandwiches and then Tom mentioned Spam. I then said that Homel made Spam not 40 minutes from where I work. My Father-in-law served in the Merchant Marine during WWII and to this day won't eat Spam. Anyway, the SpamJam Festival is coming close. Y'all might want to take a look at
http://www.spam-jam.com/home.htm     Who knows...you might want to plan your vacation around it.

Tom, your story reminds me of the time Ben and I (musta been 14 at the time) were hunting and Ben  winged a high flying mallard with his 20 gauge. It circled and landed not more than 100 feet from us in the marsh. Ben went out to get it and the dang thing was swimming around. Ben was scared to pick it up and was going to shoot it and was chasing it around with the gun not more than 10 feet from the duck. What a sight! I had remembered what you had done to that dove and hollered to Ben to backoff and I'd dispatch the duck for him. I wrung his dainty little neck.    :'(

[RavioliKid]

Okay, I can't top these great stories about privation and hard work, so how about an unusual meal story?

When I was in college back in the mid 70's, I spent a semester in Spain. This was really my first time on my own, and I wasn't used to spending money. I didn't know how long it would last, so I was very careful with my funds.

After the semester ended, a friend and I had Eurail passes and we set off to discover the marvels of Europe.

The first leg of our trip was from Valencia to Barcelona. We spent hours and hours crammed in a compartment with a family. They looked at us with great suspicion and hurried out of the train compartment as quickly as possible at the end of the journey.

For some reason, it seems that Spaniards regarded us as loose women. It was explained to us once that we looked Swedish, and everyone knows what Swedes are like.

In their haste, they left behind their dinner - a rotisseried chicken, bread and wine.

We hesitated for a minute or two, to see if they would return. Then, we scooped up the windfall and headed for the nearest park for a dinner al fresco.

Incidentally, my friend and I spent a per diem amount of $8.52 each on our travels - and that included everything except the train travel between cities.

Ah, those were the good old days!

[Tom]

 8) :D
Wow! That's a great story. Overseas on a budget tour.  Are you sure it was a Chicken?

I'll bet you came back with more stories than that Rav.  Come on........clear out the cobwebs.....let's hear'em.

I can never be so lucky.  Me and a buddy hitched to Atlanta when we were 13 with hardly any coins at all.  Stayed in a $1.00 hotel room because we were afraid to sleep in the underground (before they commercialized it) and bought a loaf of hard bread and some cheese for supper.   We couldn't get back to school fast enough the next day.  Thought we were going to starve to death or get mugged in a dark alley.

Are you still on Vacation?  What are you doing now?

[RavioliKid]

Tom,

I'm back at home - we got home this afternoon. I don't have to go back to school until August 20, but there will be some non-mandatory training offered at the beginning of August, which I will probably take. I might be taking another trip in a week or so, if I got into the workshop I applied to in NYC. Otherwise, I'd be just as pleased to stay home and get things in order here.

As to the other stories, I'll have to shake my brains. Hmm...how about the time Kathy and I quaffed a few brews at the Hofbrau House in Munich and then kissed the sailors in the subway on our way back to the Youth Hostel?

Ah, youth!

 ;)

[Tom]

YEAH, YEAH, that's a good one. Thats probably where those spaniards heard about you.  "ALAS" -acting like a swede-  :D :D

[Bibbyman]

Back in '46 or '47 (a few years before I was born) a tornado blew out of Oklahoma and stitched it's way through the corner of Kansas and then through Missouri and into Illinois.  It'd hit the ground for 50 or so miles and then skip 50.

Well,  it came through our farm about sunup.  It took the barn and all the outbuildings with it.  It also took the right half and all the top story of the log house my Dad was living in. :'(

The tornado continued on making a 100-yard path through the woods to my uncle's farm that was just to the north and east of Dad's farm.  My uncle heard it coming and had everyone under the bed as they had no basement or root cellar in their old saltbox-style frame house that set on rock posts.

My uncle witnessed the tornado hit his large barn about a 100 yards from the house as it imploded and was completely consumed.  Then the tail of the tornado made a little swerve and missed hitting the house dead center.  

As soon as the storm was over,  my uncle and family came out from under the bed to look at the destruction.  The old house had a water cistern under the back porch.  One of the girls peeked over the windowsill and gave the first account;  "Look! The tornado moved the well!"  She said.  

At least it looked like that to her and it was now 25 FEET from where it was before she dived under the bed!   :

[Tom]

That's great.........,reminds me of a story too.

My bowl turner buddy said that when he was a kid in Colquitt, Ga., his big brothers were at a "camp meeting" one night and while the adults were getting religion they were "messin' " around.  They noticed that on occasion an ole local reprobate would wander away from the tent, go to the well(which was just outside of the lights), drink from a bottle and then from the gourd and go back to the tent.

They picked the well housing up and move it about 10 feet.

A few minutes later the "reprobate" came back to the well, aiming for the well housing and fell into the well.

!!!HELP!!!!HELP!!!!he hollered.

They ran over there and pulled him out of the well(about 10 feet).  

Standing there dripping wet, he brushed himself off like he was covered with dust and said "Thanks boys, who do-yuh-rekun-moved-the-well?"; and returned to the tent.  

[Tom]

Oh no!!!  I've got rats in the computer room. I can hear them squeeking.  

I stopped typing and listened............squeek!

I got up and looked through all the papers I have stacked up around here....nothing.  I looked under some stuff my wife has stored in here and behind the books on the bookshelf......nothing.

Remember we were talking about loss of hearing on another thread awhile back?  Well I can lots of times hear stuff and can't tell where it's coming from.  The phone can be ringing and I can hear it fine but don't know where it is.  Usually it is within arms reach of me.(cordless) Boy, that's frustrating.

I can't find that mouse!

Then,  :-[, I stumbled upon what was making the squeek.  I had brought my thermos of hot coffee in with me when I got home and had put it on the table next to the computer. As it cooled it would suck air in around the stopper and, doggone it, it sounds just like a mouse.  

I have gotten myself so worked up that I'll have to stop and have a cup of coffee.  Luckily I had the forethought to bring the thermos in here with me. :-/ :-/ :D :D :D

[Tom]

Hey Bibbeyman,

I think that "lesson" falls in the catagory of "A bird in the hand.........................."

[Tom]

I didn't know my Dad, what with split up families being what they are, but I did initiate a few visits and spent a bit of time with him before he died.  I would make a point of stopping for a couple of hours when I was in town.

Dad was a LOUDMOUTH MARINE.   He was the center of attention, the life of the party and a marine through and through.  His biggest concern was that Charlie and I be "bad".  He was so full of bull that you didn't know if he was joking or not.

On one visit he told me this story.

There was this college professor who prided himself in knowing everything there was to know about Mathematics.  
One day he put in to build a fence out of bricks in his back yard.  He figured and figured until there were no mistakes and then he started laying the bricks.  He had each corner and broken brick figured out.  This was going to come out perfect.  Finally he laid the last brick in fence and lo and behold there was one brick left over.  He threw a fit.  Failure wasn't in his vocabulary.  He stomped and fumed and in a fit of rage threw the brick away as hard as he could....................

(?)  I was ashamed to admit I didn't understand.  I chuckled and puzzled over it for the longest time.  He just went on about his business and in the next breath was telling more jokes and war stories.  

Was this some sort of Aesop's fable?  Was I supposed to derive a lesson from  it.  It didn't seem right that a story would have all this involvment and not have a moral.  This guy must be nuts!

Several weeks later I visited again and we were sitting around telling stories.  I'd found I couldn't keep up with him.  He would tell one and laugh at the top of his lungs.  It is contagious to this day.

There was this lady got on an airplane and she had a pet monkey.  They didn't allow animals on the plane so she had put it under her coat.

A man sat beside her who noticed the monkey and showed a great dislike for the fact that he had to sit next to it.

Flying along at 10,000 feet he lit a cigar.  Smoking was allowed in those days and he was really enjoying it.  He was also taking great pleasure in the fact that she wasn't.  

"Throw that cigar out"'  she said.

"only if you throw out that monkey", he answered.

She was getting terribly sick from the cigar so in a last measure of desperation she opened the window (something you could do then too) and threw the Monkey out.

The man kept his promise and threw out the cigar.

Arriving at their destination, they were getting off of the plane when the women noticed something out of the corner of her eye.  It was her monkey.  He was hanging, panic stricken on  the tail of the airplane with his fingers and toes dug into the fabric.  His eyes were as big as saucers and guess what he had in his mouth?

"? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?.......I don't know...........the cigar?"

"NO.........AH-HAAAAAAAAAAA-HHAAAAAAAAAAA..........that brick!   HA-AAA."


"? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? what brick? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?".

It took me several days but finally I understood the joke.  He never let on like I shouldn't have.

[Bibbyman]

Your Marine and airplane story reminded me of one of my cousin Buck.  He was a lifer Marine back in the 60's and 70's.  After he retied,  he worked in Texas on a construction job building a motel complex.  He told one day it was well over 100 in the sun. Only the sub-floor and the studwalls were up.  He was doing something on the floor while an electrician was working around the top of the stud walls,  drilling holes to run the telephone and cable lines.  It was before cordless drills so his drill was attached to a 100' extension cord.  Often,  he asked Buck to untangle the cord or pass it around something or the other.  

This went on for a couple of hours when the electrician stopped and said;

 "You know,  if I ever go up in a plane,  I'm going to take this 100' extension cord with me.  If I have to jump,  I'll grab hold one end of it because it's bound to hang on something before we hit the ground!"

 

[Bibbyman]

For the past 20 years,  my "other job" has brought me in contact with a fine fellow in southern Virginia.  Some circumstances of our jobs gets us together every year or two for a couple of days or a week.

He's always good for a couple of good stories but he comes up with this one story every time.  After I retell it,  I'm sure you'll agree it's something that, if you had witnessed it,  it would be burned into the back of your mind forever.

He said he was in a rural greasy-spoon café along the southern border of Virginia and noticed a couple of old pulpwood cutters setting at a table enjoying their chicken fried steak dinners.  But he got to noticing that one was eating and the other was just setting there watching the other rather intensely.  After a bit,  the one eating got to a resting place in the process,  he popped his teeth out and handed them across the table to the other guy who popped them in and would get his turn eating.  

It must have been something to witness because every time he tells the story,  he shutters and acts like he's got a bad taste in his mouth. :D :D

[Tom]

Oh, the dumb stuff we do as kids.

When I was a little fellow, I belonged to the Cub Scouts, the Boy Scouts and the R.A's.  The R.A.'s, Royal Ambassadors:, was a church organization for boys organized by churches who belonged to the Southern Baptist Convention and was similar to Boy Scouts but it had a religious tilt.
 
We used to go camping too. One of our favorite spots was the Boy Scout camp on the St. Lucie River,  The St. Lucie was a beautiful primitive river before General Development built Port St. Lucie and "beautified" it.
 
I had a dear childhood friend who was almost a year older than me that called me his "Big Brother".   He called himself "little Eddy" and I don't think ever grew to weigh over 120 lbs.  I called him "Ugly Eddy" in my mind because he was undoubtedly the one single Ugliest person I had ever met.  This could get to be a lengthy and interesting description but it's not the story.
 
We were camping one weekend on the St. Lucie River and had a campfire going in a clearing, amongst the Pine trees, on top of a "hill". (Just a high spot in the swamp Kevin.)  The ground fell to all sides and the fires' light didn't penetrate too far.
 
It was getting  to be about 2am and Ugly Eddy got tired, so he excused himself, got his sleeping bag and went "downhill" about 150 feet to get away from our commotion and the firelight.  
 
The owls were hooting and there were all manner of animal sounds so, meaning well, we pulled Ugly Eddy's sleeping bag, with him in it, closer to the fire.  Directly, he awoke and wandered up to the fire, sitting down looking a little confused.
 
"Wasn't I down by swamp when I went to sleep", he asked?
 
"No, I don't think so", somebody answered.
 
He returned to his bag and was soon asleep.  We moved him again.
 
This time when he came to the fire he was shaking a little.
 
"Those trees are moving", he said.
 
"Naw Eddy, your just dreaming", somebody answered.
 
He returned to his bag and soon was asleep.
 
We were really getting into this now. His sleeping bag was pulled to the edge of the firelight and placed between two large pine trees that were only about three feet apart.
 
After what seemed to be forever, probably because we were waiting for the reaction, Ugly Eddy let out a loud Shriek. "A-i-i-i-ii-eee-  THESE TREES ARE MOVING-G."
 
He was out of his bag in a flash, sat down next to me by the fire and was up the rest of the night.
 
Ugly Eddy died about 2 years ago.  To that day he would tell the story of the trees moving on the St. Lucie River.  He acted as if he honestly believed it... and may have.
 
 If not then the joke was on us

[Don P]

"Old hands holding hands" had to let you guys in on the tunes I'm listening to right now, Saturday nite, works done, Prine's on.

Tom,I grew up in the same group, you got me remembering one of our campouts,cool enough that we had a good fire going and I spent the night sleeping on elbows and knees to stay off the ground,checking the trot line every now and again. We awoke as on of our number had snuggled a little too close to the fire and ignited his bag, we rolled him out and he's probably still giving advice to the youngun's about sleeping too close to the fire. :D I remember making squire can't remember after that(could be a reason).

What really had me thinking back was the ID on dandelion (tooth of the lion). Having give ya'll a little background as to upbringing these were the real bible belters(our softball team), no drinking,dancing or anything else that might be construed as fun. A friend had given me a recipe for dandelion wine. Well, I just had to try it out. The folks never questioned experiments on my bookshelf,ran a microcosm of snails and waterplants there sealed for 5 years. I brewed up the wine in a gallon cider jug till I thought it had quit working and capped it off tight to let it age and settle out. About a week later the house had gone to bed and around midnight a low front moved in...my jug of sticky sweet forbidden fruit exploded taking out a large part of the wall and ceiling of my bedroom. The folks came running downstairs about the time I erupted from the room in a daze. Dad looked in on the damage and stepped back out, looked at me (I'd swear there was a twinkle but mom was there) "Boy, I see you're going to learn to drywall tomorrow".