Before i came to live with Granfather a few years ago, we alternatted spending Thanskgiving at my Grandparents in Texas or at our house in California. My grandmothor, who was as mean as Granpy, died when i was 9.
Usully each year there was a bad memory from this most thankful of Holidays and i feel that years later the only way to deal with the hurt and houmiliation of my dysfunctionol family past is to share the details here. Perhaps it gives a clue to the emotionol problems I deal with today, including an innability to stand up formyself and also a poorselfimage.
I had wrote beffore about that thing parents do when they chase a little kid arround the house and say, "IM GONNA EAT YOU UP!" plus how awful it was when Granfather did it. First off, i was a homely child so I was never used to people sayin it to me as an infant. Secondley, Granfather is incapable of speaking withuot screaming. Even his whisper is a loud whistley whine. Alls he has to do is raise his voice and it sounds like a danm fraight train.
Thirdly, the old beast is incapable of smiling. He even frowns when he laughs i swear it. The doctor says all the mucsles are there in his face to permit smiling, but its as if he reffuses to do so, even when gripped with the delerium of delight, which he was on that Thanskgiving.
"IM GONNA EAT YOU UP! Y'HEAR ME BOY? GIMME SOME GARRLDANG GIBLETS!" he shouted as i ran from the table down the hall. The sitauation and size proportions made this memory identicol to the scene in Jourassic Park when they are in the back of the jeep while the T-Rex is chasing them, loworing his ugly knobby head down to make giant bites, ecxept with a cigarete tight in his teeth. I sincerely thuoght he woud eat me. I ran in the den and climbed under the Barcalounger skirt, thereby hiding myself inside a reclining chair till Friday morning. I never made a peep, even when fat cousin Earl stretched out in it above me for the whole football game farting his ass out. My dad had to call the cops cause they coudnt find me. Later on, Geuss who got in truoble? ME, and NOT GRANFATHER.
Uncle William picked up some strong expresso coffee at the Spanish store in Philadephlia. It was called Medallio-Dorro and is VERY strong. Granfathor loves to eat raw uncooked cofee grounds out of a bowl with whisky poured on it, (yes, its gross) and proceeded to eat half the can. In no time the bastord was seriously drunk and pretty danm wired.
Granfather got into a giant fight with Uncle William and tryed to suffocate him by shovving giant yam down his throaght. Uncle Zeke called the Sherrif and they came and aressted the murderrous coot. Later both my uncles forced me to testiffy agianst the old sonoffobich; my brother refused, by lying to the police and saying he was takin a crap during the fight. In the courtroom, Granfather staired at me mouthing, "IM GONNA GIT YOU FER THIS BOY."
The old bastord got a 18 months probbation. It was the first time in Texas Law enforcment history that a candeid yam was designated a lethol weapen.
In any case Thaksgiving coincided with a family summit meeting at the evil geezer's trailer. My whole family was there and all agreed to put up money to bail me out. I had comitted criminol fraud agianst them including Granfather and they all agreed not to press charges. EXCEPT Granfather, who had an evil idea:
The old bastord said that if I won the Wishbone Pull hed drop his charges AND forgive my debt. If I lost, then he WOUD press charges PLUS i'd have to pay him back. (It was ALLOT of money--I know, I was a jerk). But if the wishbone pull ended in a tie or a draw, then i woud have to move to Texas, take care of him as his personal homecare providor, AND have to pay him back. Why a draw favored him the most of all, I did not know.
My folks, and brother & sister inlaw advised me agianst the deal. They said that Granfather is a cheating crook. I was very haughtey and said: "I COUD MAKE MY OWN DESCISIONS."
My Dad said, "Fine, look how your descisons helped you thus far." He also said the olny way to teach me the lesson of desicions and conseqeunces was to not stop the contest.
All of this made Granfather laugh. He even agreead to go to the medical clinic to have the wishbone X-rayed to show it wasnt broken befforehand, but we never did it. If he agreed to an Xray, i know he coudnt be cheating. My dad said, "You never know with Granpy."
Granfather withdrew the wishbone from the turkey carcass. It had bits of meat and turkey slime allover it. It looked authenntic. Then he barked, "GRAB YER END, AN' START PULLIN' THAT BAD BOY."
It was very wierd cause the wishbone did NOT rip. I found i coudnt let go of it eithor. Before i knew it, Granfather had wheeled the wheelchair backwords allthe way to the frontdoor, draggin me along! (He's extremly strong even with one free hand) Then he rolled (still in reverse), down the trailor steps, wheels bouncing as I was dragged along on my belly, my chin hittin each step. He dragged me acros the yard trailing and flailing me in the red clay dust, dog crap and chicken poo, cackling his evil ass off in gleeful hysterricol laughs.
"LOOKS LIKE ITS A DRAW!" he bellowed, after 10 minutes of sheer tourture. "ADMIT A DRAW, THEN I'LL STOP."
I didnt want to let go for a draw. But he said hed keep pullin till my friggin arm came out ofthe sockot--in which case he woud WIN. Granfather told me that i had the choice of moving to the trailer to attend to his needs, or movving to a cement cell atending to the needs of a large inmate named LaMont who he hoped was the greggarious freindly sort: The choice was mine.
Later on all thru supper it was silent, and no one dared said "Walter, I told you so." It turns out the beast had removed the wishbone a week prior and mailed it to somone in Houston who injjected it with a space age polymer then soaked it in an industriel vinyl adheasive, then had it painted naturol colors. The so-called turkey slime i saw on it was really Krazy Glue. On Decembor 2nd that year i moved in with Granfather.