One of the disadvantages
of having access to cow whips while you’re growing up, though, is that
somebody, eventually, is going to get whipped.
About 25 years ago, on a summer Sunday afternoon in the
mid-1980s, that somebody was my cousin Kyle.
As I remember the event, it was a normal Sunday afternoon,
which meant that the men in the family were doing what they usually did, observing
the Sabbath by resting and watching TV and reading the newspapers in the living
room, and the women were doing what they usually did, which was sit around the
kitchen table and visit and laugh and carry on, and we kids were doing what we
did.
And on that day, what
we did was harass the livestock.
On that day, my cousin Kurt and my brother Luke had taken it
upon themselves to reprimand the cows in the barnyard for some crime they had
apparently committed. I can’t remember
what it was. Maybe the cows weren’t
making enough noise on that day, or maybe they were making too much noise, but
probably they were just being cows.
As mentioned, we had access to cow whips, and so it didn’t
take too long for Kurt to decide that some of those cows needed whipped. So, he and Luke climbed up onto the swinging gate and started
whipping the cows as best they could.
Now, Kyle, in those days, had a very strong sense of justice,
particularly when it came to Kurt, and he wasn’t going to let those innocent
cows get whipped without doing something about it.
Kyle gave Kurt and Luke some pretty fair warning that he was
going to head into the house and tell grandma that her cows were getting beat
for no good reason. Kurt didn’t think
much of that idea, and so he told Kyle that he had better stop and turn around
or he’d be whipping him with the cow whip before long.
Kyle was older, though, and was not in the habit of listening
to Kurt’s threats, so he kept marching right into the house. Kurt warned him a few more times, then he jumped
off the gate and started chasing Kyle with that whip.
And, as he promised he would do, he whipped Kyle right across
the back.
This did not solve the problem. In fact, it only made it worse, as violence
has a tendency to do. Now Kyle was no
longer walking into the house to tell, he was running into the house,
screaming, because he’d been hit.
Kurt and Luke, at this point, knew they had few options. They could run into the house, too, and tell
their side of the story. They could hop
the fence and start running to the woods.
Or they could hide.
They hid. They climbed
up into a grain wagon, pulled back the tarp, and hid, waiting for whatever
repercussions that might be heading their way.
My Aunt Jeanne, after hearing about the incident from Kyle,
got up from visiting at the kitchen table and headed outdoors. She walked out to the barnyard, calling for
Luke and Kurt, who were not about to come out of the wagon any time soon. This went on for awhile, with her calling for
them, increasing their punishment, and with them not moving a muscle. She went back inside, knowing that they would
be forced out of hiding eventually, either by the dark or by their hunger.
Now, one might wonder, why am I telling this story at my aunt
Gloria’s funeral? After all, I’ve been
talking for a couple minutes and haven’t even mentioned her name.
Well, for one thing, it’s a pretty funny story, and there are
a lot of people in this church this morning who have had a pretty rough week
and that could use a good laugh. But
also, those of you who knew Gloria, you also know that she wasn’t real
interested in talking about herself. She
would have liked a story about her nephews, or her daughters, or her
grandchildren, or someone else in the family, or her friends.
Gloria liked people. Gloria
had a way of making you feel very important, whatever it was that you were
talking about. She liked to sit and
visit, and when I think about her, that’s what comes to mind: all those stories—including this ridiculous
cow-whipping story—that have been repeated and shared over the years.
What comes to mind is those women at that kitchen table: Grandma Lou, Aunt Beth, my mother, Aunt
Jeanne, Aunt Gloria, the family together, visiting and laughing and telling
stories.
Like so many in my family who have passed on, Gloria didn’t
live for herself. She lived so those around
her, those she loved, could be blessed by her.
And they were blessed
by her. We all were.
Now, going back to Luke and Kurt, as boys in that wagon,
their story didn’t end up so good. Luke
eventually decided that he hadn’t actually done anything wrong, and so he
hopped the wagon and ran home. Kurt’s
story doesn’t have a happy ending, because when that Sunday came to a close,
those cows weren’t they only ones with sore hides.
But I am happy to say, and I think we should all be happy to
hear, that Gloria’s story has a very happy ending.
Because this past Monday evening, for the first time in over fourteen years, Gloria was able to sit down at that kitchen table with her mother,
and her sister, and visit.
Posts
