WTF!!!
My father had one brother that was near his age; he lived in the Poconos. They never got along, even from their childhood. He had several children; I often think that the only reason daddy ever had me was that his brother had just finished having his fifth. Can’t fall behind his brother. The brother married money, my mom (of course) had none.
As I said at the outset, daddy left the coal regions for greener pastures and spent his life trying to show his family that he was a smart guy. Their reaction was shrugs and veiled judgement for his stupid act of leaving the area. Daddy was clueless that, in casting himself as the youngest-boy-makes-good, he was passing judgement on those who remained.
Occasionally, we were invited to the brother’s summer house near a lake. I don’t remember much about the visits, except for the time my cousin and I found bear tracks. (Adults laughed, they weren’t laughing when a bear tore apart a shed 3 months later.)
My uncle always bought a watermelon the size of a snowmobile. And as we sat around, feasting on summer goodness, I watched in horror as my uncle reached for the salt shaker and defiled his sweet treat with white.
I think I even said something to him about why would anyone do such a thing. It was rare I spoke to someone like that without getting smacked or verbally abused. Anyway, my uncle said that he always did that and that it was ok for me to ask–his own children were also at a loss why you salted something sweet.
So, anyway, I don’t think I’ve ever beheld such a stomach-turning combination ever since–and I’ve seen drunken college boys put mayo on hot dogs, salsa on chocolate chip cookies, and Nyquil on ice cream.
Well, hell, what else can I play? At least it’s in mono.