Shelton's Birthday 6.27.97
Shelton was teaching me to play a card game called pity pat tonight. I had a question in the middle of one of his explanations and he paused and said, real gentle like--"OK, I'm gonna break it down real slow for you."
Saturday: Shelton makes 13 today. He came over early and we drove over to McDonalds for some "food" and went down to the Bayou and ate. I told him I needed some new cheap sunglasses so we headed for the French Market/Flea Market over by Elysian Fields. We travelled along the Bayou on Moss and turned right at Esplanade. On the first or second block after we turned on Esplanade we passed a large church on the right and Shelton asked me if I had ever drunk holy water. "I don't think I have, Shelton, have you?"
"Yeah, in that church right there, on Fourth of July."
"Was it good?" I asked. "Did it make you feel different?"
"It was better than that Mississippi water. I don't know if it made me feel different though. Maybe a little tingly."
We drove on and I parked where I usually park and Shelton asked me why I always park here and I said because it's easy and besides, it's only a two block walk, you're a young man, come on let's go.
I let Shelton pick out the sunglasses for me (two pair for seven dollars) and then we took off for the burbs. Near the Metairie/Kenner line we stopped at the Sports Authority and Shelton picked out a football with tee. He wanted some wide receiver gloves but I thought $34 was too much money for something like that. We went to WalMart to see if we could find some cheaper gloves but whereas they had golfing gloves, batting gloves, racquetball gloves, they did not have wide receiver gloves. And then Shelton saw the BB guns and his eyes lit up. He dragged me by the arm to stand in front of the locked case with BB pistols that resembled .38's, and.45's, an 9mm's. "The answer is no, Shelton."
"Please, Mr. Jim."
"Shelton, you know kids your age are carrying real guns in our neighborhood. I will not have you killed because some punk doesn't realize you just playin.'"
"I'll only shoot it in the backyard."
Oh the old "I'll only shoot it in the backyard" ploy. I used it myself as a boy. "Shelton," I say, "let me tell you a story. When I was just your age there was nothing in the world I wanted more than a BB gun. Every year for two or three years when my mother asked me what I wanted for my birthday and Christmas, I would give her the same answer. 'I want a BB gun, mom.' And every year she would respond with the same tired old question. 'But where will you shoot it, ' she would say, and I would say, 'only in the backyard, mom.' Now Shelton, you know and I know that I was lying to my mom. If she had given me the BB gun I wanted I would have been prowling the neighborhood, shooting everything in sight--busting windows, shooting my friends in the butt when they weren't looking, luring birds into our alley with bread crumbs and then popping them where they lay, maybe having to watch them suffer because I wasn't a very good shot."
"You talking like you really did all them things, Mr. Jim."
"Don't interrupt me Shelton, I'm on a roll. The thing is, after a couple of years I realized my mom was never going to get me a BB gun. So what I did Shelton, I took matters into my own hands. I was maybe fourteen and I had saved a few dollars and I snuck down to Sears on my bike and bought my own BB gun. A nice one too. It was a rifle and it shot both BB's and pellets, and you could pump it up to shoot soft or really hard. I snuck it into the house and up to my room and there it stayed hidden for many years. Sometimes, when my parents were gone I would bring it out and shoot stuff off the top of my antique dresser, until one day I missed and put a BB hole in the beaded molding that runs along the top of the dresser, and I have felt bad about that since."
"Is there a point to this story, Mr. Jim?"
"Truth be told Shelton, no. Except to say I'm my mother's son and I've learned a few things by that. The short version to the story is--'can you have a BB gun? No, no, and no.' So look for something else and let's get out of here."
Shelton tried on a pair of inexpensive rollerblades, rolled up and down the aisles a few times, and decided they would do nicely. I had worked a side job this week and had a few extra bucks so why not spend some of it? These turned out to be the only gifts he got, but still, when we got home I walked across the street with him where Mama D was sitting on her steps and after listening to her say this was nice of me, I told her, in front of Shelton, that if he lorded this over the other kids and tried to make them feel bad we might just take his stuff away from him. Mama D agreed and said, "That's right, Shelton, nobody has to know nothing about nothing." Happy Birthday Shelton.
|
Shelton was teaching me to play a card game called pity pat tonight. I had a question in the middle of one of his explanations and he paused and said, real gentle like--"OK, I'm gonna break it down real slow for you."
Saturday: Shelton makes 13 today. He came over early and we drove over to McDonalds for some "food" and went down to the Bayou and ate. I told him I needed some new cheap sunglasses so we headed for the French Market/Flea Market over by Elysian Fields. We travelled along the Bayou on Moss and turned right at Esplanade. On the first or second block after we turned on Esplanade we passed a large church on the right and Shelton asked me if I had ever drunk holy water. "I don't think I have, Shelton, have you?"
"Yeah, in that church right there, on Fourth of July."
"Was it good?" I asked. "Did it make you feel different?"
"It was better than that Mississippi water. I don't know if it made me feel different though. Maybe a little tingly."
We drove on and I parked where I usually park and Shelton asked me why I always park here and I said because it's easy and besides, it's only a two block walk, you're a young man, come on let's go.
I let Shelton pick out the sunglasses for me (two pair for seven dollars) and then we took off for the burbs. Near the Metairie/Kenner line we stopped at the Sports Authority and Shelton picked out a football with tee. He wanted some wide receiver gloves but I thought $34 was too much money for something like that. We went to WalMart to see if we could find some cheaper gloves but whereas they had golfing gloves, batting gloves, racquetball gloves, they did not have wide receiver gloves. And then Shelton saw the BB guns and his eyes lit up. He dragged me by the arm to stand in front of the locked case with BB pistols that resembled .38's, and.45's, an 9mm's. "The answer is no, Shelton."
"Please, Mr. Jim."
"Shelton, you know kids your age are carrying real guns in our neighborhood. I will not have you killed because some punk doesn't realize you just playin.'"
"I'll only shoot it in the backyard."
Oh the old "I'll only shoot it in the backyard" ploy. I used it myself as a boy. "Shelton," I say, "let me tell you a story. When I was just your age there was nothing in the world I wanted more than a BB gun. Every year for two or three years when my mother asked me what I wanted for my birthday and Christmas, I would give her the same answer. 'I want a BB gun, mom.' And every year she would respond with the same tired old question. 'But where will you shoot it, ' she would say, and I would say, 'only in the backyard, mom.' Now Shelton, you know and I know that I was lying to my mom. If she had given me the BB gun I wanted I would have been prowling the neighborhood, shooting everything in sight--busting windows, shooting my friends in the butt when they weren't looking, luring birds into our alley with bread crumbs and then popping them where they lay, maybe having to watch them suffer because I wasn't a very good shot."
"You talking like you really did all them things, Mr. Jim."
"Don't interrupt me Shelton, I'm on a roll. The thing is, after a couple of years I realized my mom was never going to get me a BB gun. So what I did Shelton, I took matters into my own hands. I was maybe fourteen and I had saved a few dollars and I snuck down to Sears on my bike and bought my own BB gun. A nice one too. It was a rifle and it shot both BB's and pellets, and you could pump it up to shoot soft or really hard. I snuck it into the house and up to my room and there it stayed hidden for many years. Sometimes, when my parents were gone I would bring it out and shoot stuff off the top of my antique dresser, until one day I missed and put a BB hole in the beaded molding that runs along the top of the dresser, and I have felt bad about that since."
"Is there a point to this story, Mr. Jim?"
"Truth be told Shelton, no. Except to say I'm my mother's son and I've learned a few things by that. The short version to the story is--'can you have a BB gun? No, no, and no.' So look for something else and let's get out of here."
Shelton tried on a pair of inexpensive rollerblades, rolled up and down the aisles a few times, and decided they would do nicely. I had worked a side job this week and had a few extra bucks so why not spend some of it? These turned out to be the only gifts he got, but still, when we got home I walked across the street with him where Mama D was sitting on her steps and after listening to her say this was nice of me, I told her, in front of Shelton, that if he lorded this over the other kids and tried to make them feel bad we might just take his stuff away from him. Mama D agreed and said, "That's right, Shelton, nobody has to know nothing about nothing." Happy Birthday Shelton.
- jimlouis 4-01-2002 8:19 pm