Did I ever tell you about the time I pretended to be sick, so I wouldn't have to go to school, and my mom didn't believe me?
It was during the mid-eighties -- maybe 1984, or '85? We were still living in the modest house on Draper Sr. that I'd called home since birth, and I was attending Westview elementary. One morning, I didn't want to go to school, and told mom that I wasn't feeling well. She wasn't buying it. In addition to that, she mentioned (in a rather frustrated tone) that she had some errands to run, and couldn't do so if I was going to be home. She stared at me for a few moments, waiting for me to admit it was all a ruse, but I held firm.
There was a brief protest. Grandma and I had never been what you would describe as close. I liked her ok, but she was already 68-years-old when I was born, and was in her mid-seventies by the time of the events described herein. Her hearing was going, and we'd never really bonded very much. My biggest memories of her were being at her small ranch on Hedge Rd., often when other family members were present, and her sitting on the couch, reading her Bible, and/or using her spittoon. She was a lovely old woman, but I'd envisioned a day off left to my own devices, not one where I'd be under her watchful eye.
Mom wasn't hearing any of my protestations, and soon had me dressed and in the car and dropped-off at grandma's house. She put me on the couch in grandma's living room, and thanked her for looking after me. "I can tell he's sick," said Callie Mae, "you can see it in his eyes." Mom -- still not convinced of the veracity of my made-up illness, squinted her eyes and said something like, "Yes, well, I'm going," and she was gone. Grandma looked at me before sitting down in the chair across the room and asked if I needed anything. I replied in the negative, and she sat down, and there we were, unexpectedly together for the next few hours.
The TV was on, and I remember that The Price is Right was what we were watching. There was Bob Barker and his models, showing-off the furniture and appliances for the contestants to bid on. It was mildly comforting, but I still felt kind of odd, laying there on grandma's couch, pretending to be unwell while she genuinely believed I was under the weather. When the game show was over, it was time for the daytime soap operas. I felt somewhat bored and annoyed.
A funny thing happened sometime during the blur of that day's events. I became comfortable and, dare I say it, began to enjoy being there with grandma. She got up several times to come over and look at me, seeing how I was doing, and asking if I needed anything. She wrapped me up in warm blankets and, laying there on her couch, with the low hum of daytime television serving as a consoling background, I drifted off to sleep from time to time. During the waking moments, I began to feel bad for the deception that had brought me there, and almost wished that I were actually sick.
Later in the afternoon, mom came back to pick me up and take me home. She seemed calmer than before -- perhaps with the errands behind her, she wasn't as stressed? Mom thanked Callie Mae for looking after me, and we soon left. I forget what I did for the rest of the day -- probably hung out in my room, mostly. What I do remember, however, is in the days and weeks that followed, contemplating those hours I'd spent at grandma's house, and the quiet love I'd felt that day. It may be my favorite memory of her.
Years later, it became more obvious what was going on that morning, with why I'd begged-off going to school. I was being bullied. It eventually got so bad that, at one point, I began paying certain classmates (using my allowance money) to protect me from some of the other kids. A set of parents found out and told my mom and dad about it, who seemed both embarrassed and concerned. We sometimes don't think of kids that age as being all that stressed, but they certainly can be. I was.
And so, in more modern parlance, I basically took a mental health day. And, for at least a few hours, it had worked. I found solace on the couch at my grandmother's house, bundled-up in blankets she had made, watching daytime television with her, and feeling the comforting love that often only a grandparent can provide.
Reminds me of my paternal Grandma. Growing up on a family farm, they lived next door- which was about a football field away from our house. Grandma was my mainstay... I loved snuggling up into the big cleft between her boobs of plenty! She would read to me, and my favorite book to dig out was Night Before Christmas. I'd make her stop on the page with the picture of pa in his nightshirt bounding across the floor to open the sash to see what was the matter. I now recognize this as an early hint that I loved looking at the male body- especially legs beneath a short night-shirt. She probably figured me out from reading me that book!
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