Deviled Eggs

This trip to Grandma and Grandpa's house was in March, and it involved Easter that year. Now, everybody knows that I love deviled eggs, but only my family knew what they did to me. Everyone had strict orders not to let me have any kind of boiled eggs. My Grandfather was sneaking them to me at the bar, and my Grandmother was sneaking them to me in the kitchen, as I passed through on my way to the bar in the basement. I lost count of how many I had eaten, but they sure were good.
We left the next morning at zero dark hours, around 4am, anytime we went anywhere with my dad we would leave at 4am. On the return trip we had an extra person on board, my brother Tommy was coming down to stay with us for a while. He was 3 years older, and in the early years we were raised together, when my mom and I lived with my grandparents. So by 4:10 everybody was all settled in with pillows and blankets. My sister and brother were in the very back of the station wagon, Tommy and myself were in the back seat, mom and dad in the front. Everyone was sleeping except for my dad who was driving.
An hour later the boiled eggs started to do their job and I cut a silent but deadly fart. A few seconds later my dad was shaking my mom and telling her that the baby pooed his diaper. My brother was about 16 months old. So my mom woke up and told me to pass my brother to her, which I did holding back a smile. Now in these days Pampers were new and you couldn't reuse them once you took them off. She took off the diaper and told my dad that there was nothing in it. With a new diaper on I placed him in the back with my sister again. Just about the time everyone got settled down, another fart slipped out. A few seconds later, my dad is shaking my mom again telling her that the baby had shit his pants again. I pass the poor baby up to her again, same thing happened. With another new diaper on we all got settled down again. About an hour went by and it happened again. This time my dad swore up and down that the baby shit his pants, so we did it all over again, but this time mom stuck her finger in the diaper first and said she did not feel anything in the diaper. So we put him in the back again.
It's starting to get light out now and as I raised up a little bit to cut yet another fart my brother starts yelling that it was me cutting the farts not the baby. I couldn't help myself, I was laughing so hard I almost peed my pants. The rest of the trip was done with all the windows down and everyone cuddled up in their winter jackets, they kept saying they were going to tie me to the roof. Thank goodness that boiled eggs don't do that to me today.

Little Battle Creek

Last night I was watching TV just like any other night of the week, and while a commercial was on I was flipping the channels like I always do. As I was going up and down on the TV guide channel my eye caught the word Jefferson. Hum, I thought, it's on the history channel at that, but for some reason when I saw the word Jefferson, George Jefferson came to mind. So I punched in the number for that channel to further read that it was the live and legacy of Thomas Jefferson. But still my mind saw George Jefferson, and I thought, wow, some body took the time to research the corrector of George Jefferson. How he stated out as a neighbor to Archie Bunker and went on to get his own comic show, movin' on up to the east-side. When I realized the mistake I made I started laughing and it brought back a memory from my childhood, and why everyone said I wasn't the brightest blub in the pack.

On the main road to town, there was a creek that passed under the highway, and right about here was a sign. At first glance I thought it read Little Battle, so I just thought it was the name of the creek, Little Battle Creek. Well after my brother died my dad thought it would be a good idea to take mother on a trip to see her family for Easter. So we loaded up the station wagon and hit the road. With my dad you always left at zero dark early like 4am. This was in the mid 60's, if there were any interstates they were just starting out. We had to take state highways all the way from Hicks, Louisiana to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I don't know how many I had seen but there were a lot of signs that read Little Battle. I thought to myself, “Wow, this is a big ass creek.” 

Every once in a while I would get to sit shot-gun, to help my dad look for signs. We passed by another Little Battle Creek and I happened to mention it to my dad that I thought it had to be the biggest creek in the world. I told him it was crisscrossing the highway all the way from Louisiana. He asked me to show him the next time I saw the sign, so a couple of few miles down the road we came upon another sign. I pointed it out to him so he pulled over. He told me to read the sign again, I said it's not going to change what it read. But after looking at it long enough I saw what it really said, Litter Barrel.

I hope you weren't drinking something when you read that part. Remember I was about 13 when this happened, but to this day my family will not let me live it down.

But that's OK, I get them back on the return trip, stay tuned to hear the rest of the story.