Spiritual Autobiography

There's this one story I have to tell you about my mom.  It sort of sums the whole thing up.  Obviously, we weren't raising her grandchildren right.  We weren't afraid enough.  There was so much to be afraid of and she had no idea why we weren't more afraid.

So mom and dad are down to visit us and I'm putting some burgers on the Weber Kettle.  Mom is seated behind me on the porch swing.  And little Joy is toddling around nearby in her diapers.  And I am pointing at the fresh, pink, ground meat as I put it on the fire and telling your cousin, "See, you must always be a good girl, Joy, or you'll be burgers!"

And mom is like having a cow.  "You can't tell her things like that!  She understands more than you know!  You'll ruin her!"

But I can't help myself.  I'm on a roll.  "You see this burger, Joy?  This is almost the last part of what is left of your older brother Ralph.  He got on my nerves, so I made him into burgers!" 

And this absolutely adorable little tyke is looking at her daddy with eyes of love, drooling and having absolutely no idea what I'm talking about.  And I'm expecting mom to erupt like Mt. Vesuvius behind me on the swing.  And suddenly I hear this chocking sound.  And I turn around, and my mom is madder than a wet hen.  The only problem is, I've managed to crack her up.  She is laughing so hard, and trying not to show it, that I thought she was gonna fall off the swing.

Incidentally, you can ask your cousins about the cousin you never got to meat, er, I mean meet; their older brother Ralph.  They will roll their eyes and tell you that the subject of Ralph was liable to come up any time dad was doing burgers on the Weber Kettle.  That Ralph was one amazing kid.  Tons of meat on that sucker.  He lasted for years.

I have no idea how come my kids turned out so well, but I think it was maybe because of their mother . . .

To be continued . . .