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| This 1907 photograph shows two cowboys wending their way down a rocky hillside. Courtesy: Library of Congress. |
The author of the venerable Rocky Hillside blog recently provided some feedback on my post It Had Better Be Important. That post included a quote from Barbara Kingsolver that what a writer has to say "had better be important," because the writer is essentially asking readers to "sit down, shut up, ignore kids or work or whatever important things they have going, and listen to me."
Rocky Hillside states that he is willing to read "all sorts of unimportant tripe for entertainment... The trivial can give me a great deal of pleasure and solace." I agree with him. If I thought everything I wrote "had better be important," I would not bother with this blog at all.
Now I will ask my readers to sit down, shut up, ignore your kids, your work, and whatever important things you have going on, and read this not-so-important short story which I am NOT sending out into the world to compete with the great works of literature, including Kingsolver's favorite, Middlemarch. Indeed, I am sending it out into the world with the lowest expectations possible. I cannot even promise that it will entertain you.
Woo-Wee and Me
By Freewheeling Spirit
One summer many years ago, I was living in
another city where I was working on a short-term assignment. I had a basement apartment with a walk-out onto a porch and backyard. The apartment had a ridiculously low ceiling – maybe 7 feet
high.
One afternoon I was sitting on the couch, strumming the guitar, when two little boys came up on the porch and peeked in the screen door. I said “hello” and stood up.
“He’s a giant!!!” one of the boys shouted as they ran off. That was the visual effect of the low ceiling.
I went out onto the porch and did a Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum routine, and they laughed and shrieked and continued to pretend that I was a scary giant. Eventually I sat down and strummed the guitar out there. One of the boys approached me, and I asked him his name.
“Woo-Wee,” he said. He pointed to the house next door. “And that’s my grandmother’s house.” Then he went back to his friend and reported that I was a friendly giant.
As it turned out, Woo-Wee spent just about every summer afternoon playing with friends in his grandmother’s backyard, and he would often come by and chat with me.
“Hi Woo-Wee,” I would say. “How are you today?” It was always great to see his mischievous smile.
One week my girlfriend came out to visit me. When Woo-Wee stopped by, I introduced them.
“This is Woo-Wee,” I said.
“My name is Woo-Wee,” he said.
“Right,” I agreed. “Woo-Wee.”
When he left, my girlfriend scolded me: “That was really mean of you to make fun of that little boy!”
“How was I making fun of Woo-Wee?” I asked. She stared at me coldly for a moment.
"Don't play dumb," she said. "You're making fun of how he talks!"
"I am?"
One afternoon I was sitting on the couch, strumming the guitar, when two little boys came up on the porch and peeked in the screen door. I said “hello” and stood up.
“He’s a giant!!!” one of the boys shouted as they ran off. That was the visual effect of the low ceiling.
I went out onto the porch and did a Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum routine, and they laughed and shrieked and continued to pretend that I was a scary giant. Eventually I sat down and strummed the guitar out there. One of the boys approached me, and I asked him his name.
“Woo-Wee,” he said. He pointed to the house next door. “And that’s my grandmother’s house.” Then he went back to his friend and reported that I was a friendly giant.
As it turned out, Woo-Wee spent just about every summer afternoon playing with friends in his grandmother’s backyard, and he would often come by and chat with me.
“Hi Woo-Wee,” I would say. “How are you today?” It was always great to see his mischievous smile.
One week my girlfriend came out to visit me. When Woo-Wee stopped by, I introduced them.
“This is Woo-Wee,” I said.
“My name is Woo-Wee,” he said.
“Right,” I agreed. “Woo-Wee.”
When he left, my girlfriend scolded me: “That was really mean of you to make fun of that little boy!”
“How was I making fun of Woo-Wee?” I asked. She stared at me coldly for a moment.
"Don't play dumb," she said. "You're making fun of how he talks!"
"I am?"
"He obviously has trouble saying 'L' words."
"He does?"
"His name is Louie."
Oh.
The End.
Kingsolver looks for "one sentence of pure truth" conveyed by a story. I would offer this:
"Sometimes when you think someone is 'playing dumb,' it turns out they aren't playing."
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