Leftovers

I thought of something mean my father did and I do not look away.

One time when I was about 12, my grandmother had the Circuit Overseer for lunch.  We had the McCarrolls and then the Kaspers.  I think this was the Kaspers.  I never got to go because I was in school.  So when my grandmother died, even though she had been out of her right mind demented for over a decade, in her Memorial talk, the brother commented on those big fluffy rolls she always made and her fried chicken.

Hard to outcook a southern girl.  It's funny how everyone here thinks we are southern, when we think we are a whole lot more Little House on the Prairie than Gone with the Wind.  It's Oklahoma, flat and windy.

So for some reason, someone didn't show up.  The CO and his wife came, but my grandmother usually had 8 people and herself and she cooked extra in case someone was hungry or wanted leftovers.  This was back in the day of CO's traveling with trailers.  Anyway, my grandmother called our house and asked us to come eat supper so she, all alone, would not be stuck with food going bad.

My father said no.  If he wasn't good enough to be invited for dinner, he was not going for supper.  That's what it's called in my childhood.  One time my grandmother invited the Brocks for dinner and she was hurt they never showed up and then at six o'clock that evening, there they were for dinner.  

They ate the food cold and it was good.  And it became one of those congregation funny stories.

Anyhow, my mother and my brother and I all went and ate fried chicken while my dad first fumed and then pouted at home.  And we had such a nice time without him, which may sound mean on my part, but my relief in his absence was a palpable thing.

But what I remember the most is how when any witnesses would show up at our door, my father would invite them in and talk to them - with the brothers about cars or fishing or hunting or football.  With the women, about children or how pretty they were looking.  He was such a charmer when he turned it on.  Then when they left, he'd have so much lip about them it would sour my stomach.
That old fart couldn't catch a crappie that way if his life depended on it.  I hope you don't get stuck in the Tribulation woods depending on that guy for a meal.
And my mother would say Lewis, if you'd come into the truth you would be in the woods with us to provide for us.
I would be listening and thinking where are we going for the Tribulation?  There are no woods around here.  I see now that the Tribulation is evidently all happening in Pennsylvania.  Now that I am here, I'm ready.

Then he would say, well it wouldn't hurt his wife; she's packing enough fat on her @#$% to be able to afford to miss a few meals.
Back and forth, he would just ride our nerves to death.

Finally, not this time, but another time, my mother got enough of it and said "Get behind me Satan!"

My father looked at her, his whole stature frozen in amazement, and everybody in the house braced for his reaction.  I was scared this time he was going to kill one of us.  At least someone would get permanently maimed from such a remark.  And then, by some miracle and I don't use that word lightly, he just started laughing.  He laughed with his whole body, his belly shaking inside his overalls, him slapping his knees, and all of us feeling like we made it through a land mine.

"Satan," he said.  "Aren't you a feisty little thing.  Baby, that's why I married you."

And most of the time my mother did not like to be called Baby, but she let it go that day.  After that, I would sit in the Hall sometimes and my mind would wander and I'd look at everybody else in the Hall and I would try to imagine what their lives were like at home, if they had as much stupid stuff going on nobody knew about as we did.