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Tricycles, Roofs, and Loafers in Training

   Written by on October 8, 2015 at 4:28 pm

Country stores are frequented by two types of loafers. Some are fixtures, who are the ones who appear to be permanently attached to a chair or stool. Fixtures are usually silent although they will speak when spoken to and grunt in agreement. Then there are the regulars who stop in on a daily basis at approximately the same time. These loafers are NOT silent. This group is more like a revolving social club. They will resolve any local, state, national or world issue faster than it requires congress to call the roll. Although they are loafers in the store, these loafers have jobs and simply use the store as a place to stop, take a break, and save the world before going home.

The stories in this column are true. Averett lives a dull life in rural Southside Virginia with his wife Management, two children and a rotating assortment of goats, dogs, cats, snakes and other local fauna.

The stories in this column are true. Averett lives a dull life in rural Southside Virginia with his wife Management, two children and a rotating assortment of goats, dogs, cats, snakes and other local fauna.

I was requested by the “loafer in training” at the Abilene Grocery to write about my childhood. This is a tough one. I was born at a young age, as is the custom in my family. I distinctly remember being spanked by the doctor at the age of two minutes, which I maintain started a family tradition of regular spankings, which continued until I was well into my teens. At birth plus about 10 minutes I remember the nurse wrapping me in a blanket, putting a silly stocking hat on my head and laying me on my back. I remember thinking, this is not good, it will squash my wings. Unfortunately, due to some defect, I was not born with wings, as I should have been. I soon learned diapers are not comfortable whereas nudity on cold days can cause gender confusion. I discovered peas are more fun to spit than peanut butter, and other important matters. In an effort to compensate for my lack of the ability to fly, I remember climbing on to anything I could find. I climbed on chairs, and doghouses, ladders, buildings and roofs. This met my inborn need for being high, but did not meet the need for the forward momentum I would have had if my wings had been intact. At age five I discovered that although wheeled toys provide suitable forward momentum they should NOT be combined with high places. All you get with a tricycle on the roof is Swoosh, Thump. I don’t recommend it. If there isn’t a “wheeee” between the swoosh and the thump, don’t do it. There is a moral lesson here about being high and behind the wheel.

The silly stocking hat at birth also caused permanent damage. I believe scientists call it “imprinting” which usually means an animal considers the first thing it sees to be its parent. My imprinting causes me to wear silly hats, which of course is the nurse’s fault. At this point I was enrolled in school. My mother insists my response to, “How was your first day?” was “I’ll give them two more days and if they haven’t taught me anything, I’m not going back.” At age 6, I developed rheumatic fever. After a year I was declared healthy and normal with the exception of some minor scar tissue on my heart. Interestingly, I was not called normal again until about five years ago and there is still some debate on that subject. I later learned the internal scars were nothing more than early preparation for romance. The external scars I collected were just the cost of living. Get up in the morning, go out and play, go inside for a band aid or stitches, go back and play. On particularly interesting days, I could earn a trip to the doctor or the hospital. Somewhere along in here, I began having problems in school. After several weeks in the second grade, I failed and was sent to the third grade. The lesson here was simple: never spend a full year in the same grade. I attempted to stick with my first grade statement.

“I’ll give them two more days….”

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