Tales from th' Trails

The Works of Rico Lighthouse
Tales from th' Trails
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  • Tag: memoir

    • Keepin Toads

      Posted at 5:30 pm by Rico Lighthouse, on June 16, 2019

      I remember one day in spring, me and little Randy was catchin toads at Memaw and Papaw’s house. We turned down the edges of a paper sack and covered th’ bottom with sticks and grass for th’ toads to live in. Them toads musta just turned from tadpoles, cuz they was all over th’ yard, ‘specially near th’ ditch. By noon we musta had a hundred toads a piece in our sacks.

      Well we got hungry so we come on in an put th’ toad sacks in th’ laundry room and ast her said, Miss Lossie, could we have some lunch. Miss Lossie told us sure, she would make us some sandwiches, and to get a Coke out th’ fridge while we was waitin, which we did.

      While she was makin lunch she asked us offhand, Whatcha’ll got in them sacks anyway, we told her Toads. She say Whatcha’ll gonna feed ’em, and we say We don’t know, what should we feed ’em Miss Lossie? And she say It ain’t nothin a toad likes to eat better’n a fly, and they’s sho plenty ’nuff a them hangin round here, ain’t they. Sho is.

      So after our bologna sandwiches we got out th’ flyswatters and got to catchin flies. It wasn’t long before we realized they only eat th’ flies that are movin, so we had to figure out how to swat ’em without killin ’em. Th’ best way to do that was to trap ’em up against th’ window panes, then pull off one of their wings. We’d drop ’em in th’ sack and they’d flop all around and them toads would munch ’em up.

      We kept this up for three, maybe five days, and all th’ time them toads is eatin flies and gettin bigger and bigger til we have to take ’em outta th’ sacks and put ’em in a box. Memaw said we ain’t got room for two boxes a toads in th’ house, and to turn some of ’em loose. And besides, she says, we need some toads round th’ yard to catch th’ outside bugs. We tell her Memaw, there’s plenty a toads outside. But they ain’t no arguin with a woman like her.

      So me and Little Randy each picked out our two biggest toads and turnt th’ rest of ’em loose. We gotta big ole box and filled it with sticks and grass, and used an old peanut butter jar lid for their water. We catched all th’ flies we could everyday for that whole summer. Memaw and Papaw both was pleased about that.

      When summer was near over, and our toads had done growed up, we turnt ’em loose so they could go back to their ditch and lay more eggs next year. An that’s how we kept toads.

      Posted in Arkansas, memories, Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged Arkansas, childhood, family, Kids, memoir, memories, Texas, toads
    • Big and Little Randy

      Posted at 5:55 pm by Rico Lighthouse, on March 2, 2019

      Memorial Glenn was a poor apartment complex on the outskirts of the ever growing Humble, Texas. Humble is pronounced with a silent ‘H.’ I could always tell if someone was from around here or not, because if they weren’t, they’d pronounce it like it was in the Bible. The place was laid out like a horseshoe, and though we moved around a few times while we lived there, we eventually settled into a second story apartment in the center. There were lots of other kids there my age, always coming and going, coming and going. No one ever stayed there for long.

      The place was poor, but we did have a swimming pool. It was only cleaned once or twice a year, at most. Come fall the water was a nice pine green, and only us kids would swim in it. But in the spring, when they first opened it up, it was as nice as any pool in Texas. It had a kiddie pool and a big pool, with a deep end that was a whopping five feet deep.

      I met Pat at the pool. Pat was a tall skinny college age kid from Minnesota. He used to sit on the edge of the pool drinking beer with his friends and throw his keys in the deep end and let us kids dive in after them.

      “Back in Minnesota,” he’d tell us, “nobody has a pool. It gets too cold.”

      He said winter lasted most of the year and the lakes froze over and people actually played on the ice. He said he moved to Texas because he was sick of being cold. He liked to sit in the pool with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other, talking and laughing with his friends, with the other parents, with us kids, with anyone. I liked Pat right away. He wasn’t a kid, but he wasn’t quite a grown up either.

      There wasn’t much around the apartments except a few fields, the woods, and a large bayou surrounding three sides of the property. At the entrance to the complex there was a convenience store and a gas station. Hop across a field, and there was a car wash. Across the street we had a Laundromat, or Washateria, as they’re called in Texas, and the Arcade. Two places filled with machines that took quarters. Only one was a lot more fun than the other.

      At the center of this world was me, my mom, my dad, and my younger brother, Little Randy. He was Little Randy because my dad was big Randy.

      I’m not sure how or why my dad’s leaving came about. I guess he and my mom just stopped being friends. Or maybe they never were. I remember hearing them arguing one night, shortly after we moved in there. Little Randy’s crib was in my room and the door was always open so they could hear him if he cried.

      “You won’t even let me see you naked anymore!” my dad yelled.

      To which my mom yelled back, “You don’t ever want to see me naked anymore!”

      Next thing I know, he was out and it was just the three of us.

      I found out later that he had tried to take my brother back with him to Arkansas, where he was from and where he’d met Mom, but she had no hard time convincing him that he couldn’t take care of a baby on his own. I also found out later that he wasn’t my real dad, that he had adopted me when I was two, after my real dad had abandoned mom and me, and I suppose that’s why he only tried to take Little Randy back with him. Anyway Big Randy went and Little Randy stayed, and, as Walter Kronkite was fond of saying back then, “That’s the way the cookie crumbles.”

      Posted in memories, Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childhood, family, Kids, memoir, memories, memory, Texas
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