I come from a normal family.  Okay, that’s a lie.  A better description would be “plain”.  They’re plain ol’ people, just nice, crabby, sweet, cynical, gullible, smart, and extremely southern people.  We’ve got our share of insanity and quirks, hurt feelings and fat, happiness and tolerance.  Some of us have stories that must be shared and probably more that should never be repeated.  I’ll change the names to protect the innocent when there actually are innocents involved.  So, as a form of purging, I’d like to share some insight into the characters I call my family.

    I'm going to start off with a relative that hasn’t always been a family member, my brother-in-law.  There are thousands of stories about Jim that I could share, but some are just too embarrassing so I’ll stick to the ones that expose me to the least amount of liability.  When I was in high school I worked for Jim.  He was a farmer and I was a hired hand, so to speak.  I probably complained more than I worked, but I learned a lot.  Mostly that I never wanted to be a farmer.

    One morning we went out to check the fields after a slight rain the night before.  Luckily, it was too wet to get in the field so after hanging around the shop for awhile, we headed back home.  Of course we were in the farm truck, a booger green Ford step side with a broken rear fender brace.  As we sped along the rough blacktop road, rear fender wiggling in the wind, a young raccoon ran into the road up ahead.  Now, Jim had had a pet coon when he was young and unbeknownst to me longed to renew that bond with the first ring tailed critter he could get his hands on.

    The coon ran all the way across the road and off into the ditch on the other side.  Jim whipped the truck off the side of the road and slid to a stop.  I really don’t remember if he said anything, but he jumped out, ran across the road and out of sight down into the ditch.  I guessed what he was going to try to do, but he wasn’t what I would call prepared to capture a wild animal.  I sat there in the truck watching the roadside and expecting him to come back in a few minutes empty handed.

    I began to see this hump slowly bobbing up out of the ditch.  As he came into view, it was obvious that my bother-in-law was a highly skilled trapper.  His unorthodox method had caught the coon totally by surprise.  When he was in full view I had a couple of minutes to marvel at his style.  Jim was hunched over, walking on one foot and hobbling on the other heel while the coon was attached to the toe of his boot with a death grip.  Jim had the coon by the tail and was limping, left heel, right foot, left heel, right foot over to the truck.  As I sat on the passenger side, staring in amazement, Jim yelled out, “YOU’RE GONNA HAFTA DRIVE!”

    I slid across the vinyl seat and got behind the wheel while Jim opened the passenger door, slung his coon bejeweled left foot up into the floor board and climbed on in the truck.  Still holding the coon’s tail, he pulled the door to.  The coon had his teeth firmly embedded in the toe of Jim’s boot and was hanging on with both front feet.  His back feet were sticking out and his tail was pulled taught by Jim’s hands.  I cranked the truck, got back on the road and we headed home.  I’m positive that was his first ride in a truck.  I can’t help but wonder what it would have looked like to someone riding behind us if the coon had suddenly decided to let go of Jim’s boot and aggressively tour the rest of the cab.  I don’t believe I could have fought a coon and driven the truck simultaneously.