The Snits Battles

A Short Story…

My mother used to complain about some of my friends and even a cousin or two arguing. It struck me that she and her sister must have had a snit or two in their early days and probably even more when they were darn near or completely grown. Having a snit was to throw a fit or two, an argument. Usually, it was through that cousin or two arguing about some simple things or some state of agitation or almost hitting each other that I learned about life.

It wasn’t until my mom died that her cousin talked about how the two of them argued almost to the point of hitting each other. This was being shared at my mom’s funeral. My brother and sister and their spouses took in the stories and the humor of the past events.

It was after the funeral services in the church and at the dinner that personal comments and bits of laughter came out, as well as the feeling that although they argued, that the two of them got closer and closer together. We all laughed at the personal stories that had seemed as real as murder and taxes was when it all came out as concern and love.

My wife went with her sister back to our home for a little wine and relaxation. As I drove home afterwards the humor and the details were running through my mind and I realized that I had seen something similar as a teenage friend and one of my favorite and best high school teacher began to argue.

Lunch followed my advance reading class at Clover Park. A simple discussion followed lunch. I won’t share my teacher’s real name, but several, me included, simply called her Mrs. Grumble. Our assignments always centered on reading each chapter and why we liked or how we understood each chapter and how the individuals in the chapter reacted or what road they followed.

At first when class began, there were a number of people who asked for an understanding of the individuals and their reactions. The more we read and the more we discussed the more our teacher called on my buddy Jeff. They argued so much that she once even called my friend Jeffy James, the hold-up cowboy of Missouri.

This usually struck the class as humor, but our teacher didn’t react that way. She wanted details of results and issues along with the why and what were the outcomes. I usually laughed and listened, but it wasn’t until the grades came out that I realized I was being taught by a strong and highly intelligent teacher to a number of students who could understand stories and humor.