Big Daddy and the Yellow Light

Our Rosedale cousin wrote me that her family routine every Sunday when they lived in Jackson included a dreaded trip "to the country" to see Uncle Arthur and Aunt Sudie, who by any account and with all due respect, to a 'tweenager, were O L D.  I mean, they were more than ten years retired and even older than her own parents, who were, by the way, actually decrepit and sooo out of touch. 
 

Cousin reports that she did not fully appreciate these trips because, in the first place, it was a long drive to get "to the country," and once there, Southern protocol required at least an hour or two of "visitin'" (read: sitting quietly in the "why can't we turn on the air conditioner instead of sittin' here with the windows open" living room on a muggy Mississippi summer afternoon when the air was so still the squirrels napped and Spanish Moss hung motionless).  On days like that, the elders usually were lost in boring prattle about the farm and the war, or how things were better or worse in the "old days" (stories punctuated with "sit up" or "don't put your feet on the chair" or "your iced tea glass is sweating on the table").  When the conversation wained, they'd turn their attention to any kids present to cheek-pinch and head-rub while asking nonsense questions to which there were no good answers, such as "how's school?"  "you got a girlfriend?" or "is that a whisker or a pimple on your chin?" (of course these are the questions I recall from my own "visits to the country"--the girl members of our pack got different versions of this type of in depth probing).  

Any self-respecting "'tween" can understand how the tedium and embarassment suffered during these visitin' trips would be at best, annoying.  That was something my strong-willed and outspoken cousin simply could not keep to herself.  Let's just say, there was no passive to her agressive.  She made it perfectly clear every time a visitin' trip to the country was planned that she would RATHER stay home.

"But, you're too little to stay home alone, honey darlin'." [read, you're too young, and you're a girl anyway. . . ]

 

On one Sunday afternoon, Big Daddy drove Grandmother, Cousin and her parents out to the country in the big Buick, fins and spare tire on the bumper and all. 

Grandmother brought flowers. 

Cousin's Mom brought clean, white socks. 

Cousin brought a pink, plastic, police whistle.

The flowers were for Sudie, the socks for Arthur, and the whistle was a recent acquisition from Ben Franklin's, something you just have to carry  along with you in case a need for whistlin' arises.  "You got any whislin' what needs doin', I can do it."  No one knew about the whistle.

Big Daddy was running a little late and ran through a yellow light at an intersection known for its loooong red. As the locomotive sized Buick cleared the intersection, Cousin blew loudly on the whistle, just as she had seen the policemen do in the air conditioned movie matinees we all attended with religious frequency on Saturday afternoons.
 

Big Daddy, always the careful driver, slammed on the brakes thinking he was being pulled over for a ticket.

Hands over ears, everyone lurched forward and then slammed back into the seats.  Luckily, no one head-bumped the metal dashboard, though Cousin said she rolled off the sofa of a back seat onto the floor.

As soon as the car stopped, Big Daddy jumped out to meet the policeman hoping to explain his need to hurry and avoid a ticket. You could hear him say before he looked up fully, "We're goin' visitin' and we're a little late comin' from First Babdist because Brother Hudgens ran over."  Cousin struggled to get up to the window to watch.

 

There was no policeman anywhere to be seen.

As Big Daddy returned to the drivers' seat baffled by the situation, he must have  heard a distinct ksniffle gazort from the back seat as Cousin slunk down, doubled over stifling her laughter.  Of course, she fully expected everyone would eventually catch on and enjoy the comic relief:  There ain't no cop (btw "ain't" was a mouth soapin' offense in its own right).  Never was.  Never will be.  No one's getting a ticket.  Whew!  

 

Unfortunately, no one caught on before she reluctantly explained, point by point:  "we were in a hurry, running a yellow, I blew my whistle to be funny."  But in the true spirit of "if you have to explain it, it's not funny," the adults seemed more than slightly displeased. 

 

In fact, they didn't laugh at all.

Well, not outloud.  While she was delivering the requiste amount  of mam'in' and yessurin' and I'm sorryin', not without some fear of reprisal, I do suspect there was at least a little stiflin' still goin' on.  I mean, honestly, I can't really imagine Big Daddy really being upset.  He was always a big tease anyway, and was definitely one to blow a few whistles now and again, himself.  In fact, I'll bet once he caught on to the prank, he remembered a few he got away with himself.  Cousin did say that from that time forward, whenever she rode with him, he always asked with a twinkle in his blue eyes (but in a way no one else could hear), "dja bring yer whistle?" 

That day however, Big Daddy simply found a time to suggest to Cousin's folks that maybe she was old enough to stay at home when they go visitin' in the country.  From that point on, Cousin's presence was no longer required, which was a real boon in her world.  It even created a private bond of twinkling eyes and unstifled laughter between the two of them from that day forward.