|
|
Hush PuppiesMar 03 '03 (Updated Dec 01 '05) Write an essay on this topic.
Popular Products in Shoes
The Bottom Line What do you think of when you hear this phrase? WARNING: This story DOES meander--but I guess most of you have come to expect this out of me!
What do you think of when you hear the term Hush Puppies? Up until the summer between my junior and senior year of high school, this term reminded me of a popular brand of shoes. A lot of years have passed since my teen years, and my memory has grown dim as to how many pairs of shoes I've owned that were made by this company, but I know that I owned at least one pair. I can't even remember if that one pair was a loafer or oxford style of shoe (though I believe it was the latter), but I do remember that I really liked them for not only their appearance but their comfort--and that I was pretty ticked-off re: the abuse they received one afternoon. Although I had provided a doctor's excuse to her so that I wouldn't have to participate in certain activities in Phys. Ed. (this having to do with the fact that I have a trick-knee), this woman was 100% certain that I had just made up this condition in order not to have to work as hard as the rest of the class. She did excuse me from the activities that the doctor had listed--however (though I wasn't forced to do them), I had to fight tooth-and-nail not to do activities that he hadn't even anticipated my being required to do--things such as touch-football! Although I was allowed to sit on the sidelines, I was also having points removed, which would work to lower my grade. Thus, I went through the year bringing home Cs and Ds in Phys.Ed. Thankfully, only one year of this class was required in high school. Oh yes! Did I mention that the grade I was given during the last grading period was a huge F, which this teacher had made as big and bold as possible!?! I think what it boiled down to was this: She thought that I was a hopeless case, so it would be of no use to run me through another year--yet, she wanted to express what she REALLY thought of my presence in her class. All of those somewhat-higher grades had just been given in order to make sure that she and I wouldn't have to repeat this nightmare. However, there was this one student whom she must have thought had hope of redemption, so she had given her the kind of grade-point average that would guarantee that she would (for the second time) be taking Freshman Phys. Ed. This strong, stubborn sophomore wasn't too happy about being stuck in a class she didn't like with a bunch of freshman babies, and she needed someone to vent her discontent on. She even managed to get a few of the other freshman girls on her side when it came to making my seventh period a miserable experience. There were a number of times when she would be angry with me for sitting out of an activity and would--along with the little locker-room gang she'd put together--hit me and shove me around. Everybody was supposed to take a shower after class--only exempt from this if you happened to be on your monthly period. This required changing out of your gym suit into your birthday suit then, after your shower, back into your street clothes. When I was on my period, I didn't even have to change back into my street clothes if I didn't want to. I could simply change from sneakers to street shoes and simply carry my street clothes with me in a bag. Thus, I didn't have to spend much time in the locker-room at all on those days, unless I wanted to. And when the bully and her gang were angry over something, the locker-room was the last place I wanted to spend a lot of time. We had cadet teachers at our school. I would become one in the special ed. room. My freshman year boyfriend (who was a senior at that time--the one I like to call a dimpled Chad these days) was one in the fifth grade class. Anyway, cadet teachers could earn class credit by spending a class period helping out with another class. Mostly, this involved the special ed. class and grades 1-6, but Phys. Ed. was the exception to that rule. Therefore, a teacher wannabee from the junior class, Wyetta Coleman, had become a cadet teacher for Freshman Phys.Ed. You couldn't have asked for anyone more sweet, understanding, and compassionate. Anytime that it looked as if the locker-room gang were in the mood for a little "fun," Wyetta wouldn't hesitate to mark me down as having a period so I would be able to hurry down to the locker room as fast as I could, grab my clothes, and high-tail out of there!!! Wyetta--like this teacher wannabee--ended up taking a different route in life and ended up being a hairdresser instead of a teacher, something I'm sure that she's equally good at, even though students could have really benefited from someone like her as a teacher. But I know that she has surely, throughout the years, played a meaningful part in the lives of young women, making them look and feel beautiful for those special occasions such as proms, homecoming dances, and important first dates, because that's just the kind of person she is!!! Wyetta, if you're reading this, thanks for being there for me back in 1967 and 1968!!! Thanks for allowing my monthly visitor to arrive several times a week, if necessary and making sure that I survived to enjoy my summer vacation and all the years ahead!!! But, back to those Hush Puppies. . .Even with Wyetta's help, I didn't escape 100%. It wasn't long after I'd bought this brand new pair of Hush Puppies that I went to stick my feet into them after class--only to feel something squishy in the toe of one of them! EEW!!! Closer examination showed me that some joker had inserted a Twinkie therein!!! It took some doing to get the shoes wearable again, and the Twinkie-fied one never did look as nice as it did before. As I recall, my folks and I never did get too much cooperation from the teacher when it came to tracking down the culprit--for that particular crime, anyway. I must give her credit for something she did shortly afterwards. One day, she arrived in class and found this bully girl hissing threats at me about how she and her gang were going to really get me in the locker room later. At that point, the teacher pulled a paddle from behind the stage curtain and brought it down hard on the floor of the stage--after which she told this girl that she would do the her behind what she'd just done to the stage if she ever heard of her laying a hand on me. After that, things got considerably more tolerable. Speaking of that "Board Of Education," we were all sitting on the bleachers one afternoon when this teacher named Jerry whom I had it bad for (This was after my dimpled Chad and I had broken up) came into the gym. I went into a staring trance (He had that effect on me--more later about that in another story!) to which my friend, Robin, who was sitting beside me, hissed, "Stop staring at him! You remind me of that girl in To Sir With Love!!!" I kept on staring--until the Phys.Ed. teacher approached me wielding the same paddle she had shown to the bully girl. She never pounded it or anything--just said something about, "See this? I'm going to use it on you next time I catch you staring at the male teachers!" She might have been kidding--but she didn't give me that impression, so I quickly changed to a poker-face and looked the opposite direction so I wouldn't even be tempted! Actually, it made a lot of sense that I WOULD be romantically-interested in teachers, since my do-all-three career choice at the time was that of teacher, homemaker, and writer--but I believe that this teacher saw my interest as an indication that I was in grave danger of turning into a loose woman. What she didn't realize was that, even if I DID start seeing a man several years older than myself that our dates would be under strict parental supervision. My folks had already made it clear to me that I wouldn't be allowed to go out on car dates until I was sixteen years old and that I wasn't allowed to kiss my dates in a romantic way even right there at home until I was the same age. As for becoming sexually-involved, that was to be saved for marriage. Since I didn't see myself getting married until I'd graduated from college--and, since I totally-agreed with that rule, which, in my opinion, came not only from my folks but God--there was no danger of this, and I was pretty hurt and offended that this teacher would even think what she seemed to be thinking when it came to my morals. It just seemed to me that couples should have something in common, so the men I chose to be interested in generally were in (or planning on being in) the teaching profession or, at least, reaching out to kids in some way. Gary (my senior year boyfriend), for instance, worked in a factory but had not only become a second father to two brothers whose own dad was serving time in prison but had also opened up his home as a safe, drug-tobacco-and-alcohol-free place for young people to gather to listen to music and dance. He was also very artistic and creative, another plus for the creative-writer spirit in me! Anyway, by the time I'd finished my junior year of high school, I'd fallen hard for another teacher. His name was Ron Long, and he wasn't that much older than I was (September 3, 1947 to my December 12, 1952). This is the way we met. We had just moved into our consolidated high school (Pendleton Heights H.S.), and, for the first time, our lockers had combinations. Over at the smaller Markleville H.S., we had lockers, but very few people even bothered getting a combination lock for them (like what you might lock up a bicycle with). But these combination locks were built into the lockers at our new school, and we had to get used to learning how to use them. Let me tell you that they were very stubborn, and you had to have things exactly-just-so before they would cooperate and open. It took practice to get to where they became easy to open--and, even then, they seemed to have their moments. But, in order to become properly introduced to our new school, each of the four classes had its own day to spend there, look around, and get a feel for the place. At some point, I went upstairs to try to tackle my locker--which I'd already heard from some was a real bear to get opened. After several unsuccessful attempts, I happened to see this good-looking (literally tall, dark, and handsome!--Think of a cross between what Gregory Peck and David Selby looked like at that time!).guy walking down the hall--someone I assumed to have been one of the more responsible seniors who had been asked to come in that day to make their underclassmen feel more at home. I told him that I wasn't having any success with my locker, and he worked with me to help me to understand how to get the combination just-so. My mind was, by now, thinking "Prom Date." He somehow seemed too mature to be a fellow junior, so I asked him if he were one of the seniors--and he told me that, actually, he had just graduated from college and this would be his first year of teaching freshman math. By now, I'd come to realize that teachers could get in trouble for dating students, so I made a mental scratch-out mark through the "Prom Date" phrase that had been going through my head. Oh well! He seemed like a nice guy who would be fun to talk to--and, if I couldn't have him for a boyfriend, I could possibly have him for a cousin, if I could fix him up with my cousin (who was a college freshman at the time studying to be a teacher). Ron Long just felt comfortable to me--like the kind of older brother I would like to have had, had I had an older brother. Since it would be almost two years before I could even allow myself to think of him romantically, I just made up my mind not to. After Ron left, I practiced with my locker combination a little more but still found that it was giving me a lot of trouble. Soon, another guy came along, and I asked him if he could help me to get the hang of my locker. It turned out that our lockers were close enough together that he'd be able to help me with mine anytime we happened to be there at the same time and I was having trouble with it. He introduced himself to me as Wynn Swindell (one of the students from the old Pendleton H.S.)--and he was my first boyfriend at our new school. Our dates consisted of hanging around each other at school, going to Youth Fellowship at my church, and spending time hanging out with my folks and me. It wasn't some passionate romance but more like just a couple of buddies hanging out together, even though we often held hands when we took a walk together. As for Ron, he was just my buddy and always a sight for sore eyes. The guy I was most romantically-interested in during my junior year was our then-choir-director, George Grace! To me, he was just incredible! So talented, funny, and Spirit-filled! His father was a retired minister, so you can imagine that I almost wore out my 45 rpm of Son Of A Preacher Man by Dusty Springfield!!! In my opinion, he and Paul Bickel (Oh yes! Did I mention that there had been times when I'd almost worn out Annette's Tall Paul from playing it so much!?!) were the two most adorable guys at church--and I was now under the impression that even Paul paled in the light of George!!! Now, George (recently divorced and a little over a decade older) didn't have the same interest in me, but he was still sweet enough to indulge me at times--silly, little things like helping me on with my coat (at my request) when it was time to go home after choir practice and accepting and wearing the cuff links I bought for him (gift-wrapped with a card reading "Merry Christmas, Honey!"). He reminded me that he wasn't ready to start dating yet--and that I was too young for him, anyway. In September of 1970, he ended up marrying somebody who was only about a year older than I was, and I remember thinking at the time how really falling in love has a way of making you change your tune about a lot of things. Anyway, I was happy that George had found somebody to love--especially, when I was long since over him. When I was about to graduate from high school, I gave George an invitation to my graduation ceremony. He looked at it a little confused--then asked me if this were a high school graduation. I told him that it was. He let it sink in a little bit then asked me how old I was, and I told him I was 18. "I can't believe this!" he exclaimed. "All along I was thinking you were 12 or 13!" Hey! What can I say!?! I looked--and acted--rather young for my age back then. Still do--at least, when it comes to how I act! Anyway, I was over George (simply decided on my own that we wouldn't make the best couple, even if he had started noticing me the way I'd been noticing him) by the spring of 1970, and there were actually several guys who were looking pretty good to me--meaning that I wasn't particularly zeroed in on anybody. Then came the last day of my junior year. It was a pretty emotional time, because the last thing we had done was to attend the Awards Day convocation--that is, those of us who were left. The seniors had graduated the night before, so it was just the three lower grades in the building (along with faculty and staff, of course). I'd received a certificate of recognition from the Governor of Indiana for one of the poems I'd entered in a contest, and Judy Renbarger (one of the guidance counselors) presented it to me--after reading the sweetest poem she had written about me!!! Finally, it was time for dismissal. Our principal, Ernest Miller, had this special way of dismissing us from convocations. If we were getting dismissed to go home or go to lunch, he would start with the seniors first. If we were getting dismissed to go back to class, he started with the freshmen first. This time, he looked out over us and exclaimed, "Now, will our distinguished seniors go first!!!" It was official! My classmates and I were now seniors--and I burst into tears from the overwhelming joy of it!!! Everybody was going here and there, telling friends goodbye for the summer, congratulating each other on awards won, etc. I had an autograph book, and I was collecting autographs--and that was when I came across Ron-. My old buddy, Ron! My "adopted" big brother Ron! The guy I wanted to most have for a cousin-in-love, if I could only convince my cousin that he would make her a great husband and they would make wonderful babies together! YEAH! THAT Ron--the Ron who also would have made a nice prom date had he been a student instead of a teacher, but, since he was a teacher, I'd quickly dismissed that dream. He told me that he would sign my book with his blue ink pen, because blue was his favorite color--and I noticed at that moment that this seemed logical since he had the most beautiful blue eyes. He wrote a sweet message in the book and signed it "Mr. Long." (Nothing too romantic about that!) Then, he gave the book back to me, told me to have a great summer, and he would see me in September--but something seemed to have changed from his side, because the smile he gave me looked more like the kind of smile a guy would give a girl he liked rather than the smile a teacher would be giving a student. In short, he might have still been "Mr. Long," but he was giving me a very "Ron" sort of smile! This didn't all sink in at once--but, a few hours later, I suddenly realized how much I was missing everybody--but, especially, him!!! In fact, I even asked my cousin if she had changed her mind and wanted to meet him. When she told me she hadn't, I was relieved. I asked her if she would mind if I really didn't want to fix her up with him anymore, because I was now interested in him, and she told me that this didn't bother her a bit, and good luck. One year to wait before being able to date such a wonderful guy didn't seem all that long to wait! Anyway, I could write on and on about Ron and what happened after that. Obviously, he didn't turn out to be Mr. Right-For-Me (not to this date, anyway--and he's married now, so I doubt if he ever will), but I just wanted to tell you this much to set the mood for the summer of 1970. In the summer of 1970, my folks and I took several short trips--one of these being into the Deep South. Several years after his wife, Lilly (whose full first and middle name was Lillian Ainsley, from which first my mom and then I got our names), passed away, our shirt-tail cousin, Finley "Finn" Minnick, remarried--this time to a delicate magnolia named Amelia. Finn had passed away the year before, and we went to visit Amelia in the Mom & Pop nursing home in Pass Christian, Mississippi where they'd both been living for several years. We had a delightful time with her, going out to eat and visiting some of her relatives who ran a private school in the area. After that, we went on to spend two days and a night on Dauphin Island, which was across a causeway from Mobile, Alabama. Besides the sheer beauty and simplicity of this paradise surrounded by rolling, sparkling, and frothing water, there were a couple of things about it that made an especially great impression on me. One of those was their little schoolhouse that looked like something out of the early 20th Century. This school got me to daydreaming. At that time, I had plans of becoming a special education teacher. I'd heard that it was a good idea for a special ed. teacher to spend at least a year teaching in a mainstream classroom first--and I thought that this would be ideal. It would be a mainstream classroom, but I would also be teaching several grade-levels at one time, just as I would as a special ed. teacher. And it was such a romantic place!!! I would rent a beach cottage and have Amelia to come live with me for the year that I was there. It would be like a big vacation for both of us!!! And, since Ron Long often vacationed in Florida, there just might be the chance that he would drop by our little beach cottage going and coming, and we could spend hours together just strolling up and down the beach!!! What a delightful picture I had painted in my head--a picture that would remain for years even without the Ron Long factor, because it stood alone! I wrote to Amelia and told her that, when I got my teaching degree, we would live together for a year on Dauphin Island while I taught at this "cute, little schoolhouse." And I also told her that we would eat a lot of something that I'd just discovered--but more on that in a little bit! We went down to visit Amelia the following summer, and the people at the nursing home were happy to see us back--commenting how much joy my letters to Amelia had been bringing her, because she was always so happy and excited as she told the other residents that she was going to be going to live on an island with me one of these days!!! It seemed as if Amelia could never get enough of talking about the island!!! Amelia never made it with me to the island, as she passed away while I was still in college--and I never became a teacher, either (not in the conventional sense, anyway). Obviously, I never married Ron Long, either. As for the little school. . .I don't even know if it's still there, because there has been at least one devastating hurricane that has visited this paradise since way-back-when. Besides, the island kids would, likely, be getting bused to the mainland these days in this age of bigger--though not automatically better--consolidated schools. If left unscathed by the hurricanes, the little schoolhouse would, by now, be likely serving as some sort of community center with classes in The Three Rs being replaced by classes on how to do the latest dances, play euchre, have a better sex life, etc. Or, maybe, it wouldn't be there at all. I wonder how much of this sleepy, little island community is still the same. Has it kept its romantic coziness that takes you back to a simpler time? Or has it become built up with condos, hotels, flashy clubs, etc.? Maybe, I'll get down that way again someday to see for myself--though it might be better simply to remember the place as I knew it as a starry-eyed teenager with what seemed like all the time in the world ahead of her. If you've enjoyed this sentimental journey, I want you to be able to properly thank the writer of the piece who get me thinking in such a way that I was inspired to share this at this particular time. I Guess My Dog Likes Junkfood by Candice923 http://www.epinions.com/content_91562937988 You see, reading what she wrote reminded me of the new (to me at the time) definition of Hush Puppies that became part of my life during my first wonderful visit to this romantic island. My folks and I were hungry, so we had stopped at this little hole-in-the-wall that was (I can't remember which) either right where the causeway ended and the island began or else somewhere in the center of the causeway. One of the customers--a fellow who looked like a worn-around-the-edges, old fisherman--highly recommended the hush puppies to us in a way that seem to say, "If you try nothing else, be sure to try the hush puppies!" None of us had ever had them before, so we were sure to include an order with our meal. I believe we followed this up by at least one more order. Anyway, with that, our love for hush puppies was born! They aren't something that we eat all of the time, but we certainly do love them when we DO have them!!! In her review, Can was talking about this doggie treat that her dog--and even a starving, stray dog--didn't seem to like, and I was wondering if they had, perhaps, been packaged for the wrong consumers. Maybe, the same kind of cookies with the exact same ingredients should be repackaged and put in the cracker section of your local health food store. If this seems like such a far-fetched idea, remember this: There was, according to legend, some fishermen who had brought their dogs along with them on a fishing and camping trip. Back then, the dogs didn't have custom-made food but would, instead, survive both by hunting and by eating the table-scraps of their people. Anyway, these fishermen were preparing to fry the fish, and the dogs were making pests of themselves by whimpering, barking, and otherwise begging for food that hadn't even been cooked yet. The main cook that evening hit upon the bright idea of deep-frying some of the batter and dropping it down to the dogs to see if they would eat it and quit pestering him while he was trying to cook. So he did--and the dogs ate it up. Soon, they were begging for more, so he made up a bunch of it and tossed it down to them while admonishing them to "Hush, Puppies!!!" Somebody in the group thought that what was being tossed to the dogs looked pretty good, so he asked the cook if he could taste one of those nuggets. He was favorably-impressed--and, soon, the whole bunch of them wanted some, too. When coming up with a name for this treat, they decided that the most fitting name would be Hush Puppies. Do you know what this means, fellow HP-lovers!?! It means that we have been eating dog food!!! But do you think that will stop us in the future? Fat chance!!!  |
| Read all comments (7)|Write your own comment |
|
Ads by Google
|
