Memories from long ago...

As the old inter-generational hyperbole goes, "When I was your age... I had to walk 20 miles to and from school each day in snow up to my waist-- and it was uphill both ways." It usually can be interpreted as, "Stop your whining, you big Wuss," to a member of the next generation who complains that the world in some way doesn't conform to his image and likeness. As ludicrous as that hyperbole is, it really isn't that far off. I could only imagine what a modern social worker would think about some of the conditions in which we grew up.

The upstairs of the house in which we lived for many years while growing up was one large room. There was but one light in the room on the ceiling near the stairway. Having no switch, the light had to be turned on and off by climbing the rickety railing around the steep stairway to screw the bulb in or out.

Although this room was ‘the boys room’, there were other lodgers– rats. I was not entirely comfortable with our guests so I slept with an opened jackknife under my pillow for purposes of hand to paw combat.

In his younger days Dad used to be a trapper. He still kept a passel of mink, muskrat, and beaver traps which became some of our favorite toys. The mink traps were quite effective in nabbing gophers and rats on the farm. One of my older brothers, Jerry, and I colluded in a scheme to use these to effect a welcome upon our non-paying residents.

In the wee hours one night my brother and I were rudely awakened by the harsh snap of cold steel as one trap was triggered. I scurried up the teetering railing to screw in the bulb to see the result of the clamor with adrenaline pumping wildly through my system.

As our eyes adjusted to the light, the fruit of our efforts became apparent. The large Norway rat, with its hind paw caught in the trap’s jaws, sat there glaring at us drumming his front claws on the wooden floor as if to say, “Ok, what now, hotshots?” Hmmm! Good question.

Jerry, the bold one, took a boot and at the risk of his own life, commenced awailin’ blows upon the large rodent. Rats are pretty tough so he took the beating unharmed and escaped back within the walls.

At any rate, I think we earned some respect. We seemed to have fewer indoor encounters after that.

I don’t quite recall, but I think I may have stayed up on the top of that railing for a day or two before descending back into our savage jungle. Jerry, always the encourager, helped calm my fears by saying, “Come on down and stop your whining, you big Wuss, before I beat the crap out of ya!” “When I was your age...”