Submitted by John L. Lincicome.
Children have a way of asking the same thing or repeating something over and over and over again, to the point an adult’s patience is tested. Sometimes it ain’t easy bein’ a kid, or an adult.
“He’s still president, ain’t he?” she announces more like a statement and less like a question. It’s a thing she’s said to me in the mornin’ time for 3 out of every 10 mornin’s lately, and before 45 was 86’d she’d said it daily for the last several years, but she said it more like a funny and less like a question or statement in those not so long ago’s. Not like that now.
The she doin’ the askin’ is my gal. She’s a peach of a human, but she don’t seem to remember that the wretch known as 45 was officially given his walkin’ papers on Inauguration Day. She’s not good at the rememberin’ thing no more, eh? No. Either that or she’s been tryin’ to get my goat 3 out of 10 mornin’s for a while now. I make a quick, mental note not to leave my goat parked and unattended within her reach no more. Just in case, comes to mind.
“No he isn’t” I tell her. The words come out of me and visit somethin’ akin to condescension to my ears, but not hers. She looks a look of confusion at me, then…
She goes on rote memory and says all the silly stuff she said in her not so long ago about the most hated president in the history of these United States of America, almost as if she didn’t hear me tell her 45 had been ushered off the biggest stage in the world just weeks ago like I’ve told her each time she’s said it since Inauguration Day. Doesn’t she know/remember? Is she pullin’ my chain?
When I was a kid in Lakewood the 60’s we didn’t have cable TV. No one did. We all had analog televisions that relied on an antenna of some sort to “receive a signal” that television stations sent out magically through the air. Folks had to have an antenna in order to receive a “picture & sound” to the coveted television(s) in the household. Some folk had a fancy rooftop mounted antenna, other folks had the more simplistic “rabbit ear’ antennas that lived on the top of the television.
In either case if the television wasn’t pickin’ up the station you wanted to watch, someone had to fiddly fart around with the antenna. That meant either getting the ladder out of the garage and settin’ it up at a place that was amiable to getting on the roof and adjustin’ the antenna up there, or fiddly fartin’ around with the rabbit ears on top of the telly. Sometimes a fella could put tin foil on the rabbet ears. In either case it was always a nuisance, and the results were mixed; sometimes those fixes worked, sometimes not.
I listened patiently to her do her rote talky thing about 45 and there came a time like it always does that something akin to the reality of the situation settles in with her and she looks me a look. Looks me the “it’s happening again thing, ain’t it?” the “oh gawd, I forgot all over again didn’t I?” look. The look that tells me she’s mortified that she got it all wrong again. Sometimes she don’t go there no more. The moment passes.
“You want coffee?” she asks, then adds…
“I worked for Starbucks years ago, and I know how to make coffee right” she says. “You want?”
“That’d be nice” I tell her with words and a smile.
She meanders off to the kitchen to make the coffee. She remembers where the coffee filters are and where the coffee is and how to set it all up. She starts the drip coffee maker and then retires unceremoniously to the couch in the living room.
Some time passes, enough for the coffee to brew.
“Is the coffee done?” I ask her as she does her do on the couch.
“Want me to make some?” she asks.
“No, the coffee is done, I’ll go pour you a cup, eh?” I tell her.
Sometimes it’s like her antenna ain’t pickin’ up the signals. The thought that maybe I could make her a hat out of tin foil and just maybe all her troubles and my frustrations would be over, passes through that nonsensical, male, head of mine. Guys are good at fixin’ some things, sometimes we’re better at effin’ things up in the first place. I get to thinkin’ that..
Maybe that tin foil idea of a hat thing wouldn’t be effective, or even funny at all.
“Thanks” she says as I put down a full cup on the coffee table.
“You’re welcome…” I say with my eyes.
Pfft. Damn woman.
John L. Lincicome lives in Tacoma and you can read more Kid Life stories on the You Know Your From Lakewood, WA If… Facebook Page.
The views expressed in this article are the writer’s own.
Susan says
I love this!!
Jim Kell says
John Lincicome is a Lakewood treasure. If I had any decision making power at the Suburban Times I would put him on the payroll. He has a mind that puts pen to paper as well as any writer around and so unique
Ben Sclair says
Hi Jim… I’m thrilled John is sharing his stories with The Suburban Times readers. The Suburban Times is more of a digital bulletin board that more than 30,000-50,000 readers use each month. We have no reporters or staff. All content comes from the great people in our communities.
Jim kell says
I’m old enough to remember the very first edition of the Suburban Times. I’m so glad it’s still around even as a digital publication only. That is where all publications are probably headed. I grew up in Lakewood, second graduating class at Lakes , and have lived here in El Paso for 40 plus years. Thanks for your reply.
Ben Sclair says
🙂
My parents, Mary Lou and Dave Sclair owned/operated The Suburban Times from 1975-1980. While not the first owners, they certainly left a mark on the community. I started this version of The Suburban Times in 2005. More than 45,000 stories – all from the community – have been shared so far.
Annette Fetters-Shrewsberry says
I, so love reading his stories. Thank you for the giggles and today the tears. Most of all, thank you for being real.
Eric Chandler says
Thanx for sharing Mr Lincicome…you brought back some good memories of a family relative who has since passed.
Polly Rachford Graham says
Thank you, John. You certainly have a gift for remembering and making me laugh or cry. Or sigh with remembering the Lakewood of yesteryear.