When I was 4, my father took me back to
visit family, mainly my paternal grandparents in Kansas, who were
pious Methodists in a very small town; in fact, my grandfather was
the local minister.
It was the 4th of July; much of the
rest of the family was there as well, so I had plenty of little
playmates my own age, and we helled around as one might expect; I was
particularly entranced that we could set off fireworks such as Roman
candles that were strictly forbidden in California.
Understandably, my grandmother wanted
to restore order; so she said to us, "Look: you'd better behave
& be good: because if you do, you'll see the most surprising
thing you've ever seen: and if you don't, you won't!".
We wondered what to do; because we
certainly didn't want to be good, but the prospect of the greatest
surprise of our lives, short though they'd been at that point, was
too tempting to pass up; so we toned it down a lot. But eventually we
reminded her that we'd been good as gold & wanted the payoff. She
said, alright, come to the back porch, and gather around the bottom
of the steps; which we did.
She came out, looking perfectly &
normally her gentle grandmotherish self, and asked, well, were we
ready; and we said yes.
She reached up, yanked her false teeth
out of her mouth, clacked them up and down in her hand like a
demented predator, and attacked us down the stairs.
She was and remains entirely right;
I've never been so surprised again.
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