I Got Shot in the Butt and Had a Blast
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The Road to the Fair Stinks, Too "Every year when the county fair came, it was a major production. I think it was suppose to give the teachers a break or grease the politician's hands- but all the children in the county got one day off from school for Fair Day. Schools aren't known for giving kids a free-bee without condition or consequence. Fair Day was no exception. We had a double dose of both squeezed in that day. The condition was all the high school kids had to participate in a parade. There weren't any floats, but a sheriff's patrol car led along with a fire truck or two, both occasionally hitting high notes with their sirens. The high school marching band, playing whatever the band director decided. Local and county officials rode in convertibles a well as the usual queen of something or the other. But the worse of all were the horses high-stepping with their riders dressed like a bunch of wanna be "rhinestone cowboys." The condition was a bunch of us had to march in the parade. I don't know how we were selected. I always assumed it was because God hated us. The consequence was we marched at the end of the parade, behind those damned diuretic nags. Since this wasn't the Army or even ROTC, we didn't necessarily have to stay in step. And a good thing it was. Having to march in a parade behind the horses in not my idea of a walk in the park. It's even worse than a walk in the pasture. A close-order drill became bumper people. As you can imagine, some of the rather rowdy ones tried, often successfully, to redirect someone towards a pile of fresh pooh-pooh. Stepping into a doggy-doo was not even close to being comparable to one of those piles. After the parade ended, you could see the green, green grass of the schoolyard covered with more fresh fertilizer than normally used on a hundred-acre soybean farm. There was kicking, wiping and scraping in an effort to remove as much crap(really) as we could before leaving. When it finally came time to board the buses to the fair, most of the horse's stinking stool remained at school. Since it's just about impossible to remove fresh horse manure from your shoes in less than a week and a half, the bus began to smell like the cattle exhibit six miles before we got there. It was almost six miles to the fair from the school. Get the stinking picture? We also discovered why the ground at the fair is all covered with straw. Most people assume it's in case of rain. Bull, or horse, as was the case. It's there to prevent someone who didn't have to march in a parade behind a bunch of dung-dropping horses a decent chance to go home with only dust on their shoes. As for ours, by the time we left, each kid's shoe-not shoes, who was unfortunate to have had a close encounter with the crap kind, weighed in at about three pounds apiece. With all the straw we took outta there, I'm not sure we even left enough for Fair folks to make a decent bale.
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About the Book
This book is a must read for all those who want to rekindle their own memories. It's childhood, Southern humor, with a dash of poignancy that may bring a tear to your eye and then a flood because it's funnier than hell. With chapters like: Quilted Mountain Majesty When You Died, I Thought If You Were Good, You Went to Grant Park Fun in and out or Let's Do It Everywhere We Didn't Need Reddman's Lake to Get in over Our Heads A Banny Hen Chicken Is Dumber Than Dirt Hog, the Other Stupid Meat Neighbors Can Save Your Grass My First Kiss or Is That Shotgun Loaded? A Range War Is No Cooking Contest
About the Author
Mr. Crawford was born in Atlanta, Georgia, in 1948. He lived in your basic middle-class neighborhood until he was ten years old. He learned about city life-sandlot baseball and being home before dark or suppertime, whichever came first-and most of all, fun! In 1958, his family moved to the country to get away from the big city. There he learned a lot of different things, like slopping hogs, catching rabbits, range wars, and of course, paddlings at school. After having brain surgery, Mr. Crawford lost most or all his short-term memory. He discovered, however, his long-term memories had been enhanced so much, as if they had happened yesterday. With this revelation, and plenty of time on his hands, he began thinking about his childhood and how much fun he had growing up. Before he knew it, he was writing about the most memorable times of his life growing up. He had a childhood most kids would only dream about. He has been a guest columnist with a North Carolina Newspaper, the Lexington Dispatch, and a frequent writer of current events.