Hide your crazy - Aug. 13

  Have you ever heard the expression “you’re going to pay for your raising?” It’s usually in a southern accent, accompanied with a snarky tone, followed by a chuckle and coming out of your mother’s mouth. Normally AFTER you start to have kids of your own.

No one seems tells you that BEFORE you bear children. But as soon as yours start getting into trouble, you get the warning of the century. Thanks for nothing.

So if I am paying for my raising, I’m getting a pretty sweet deal. As a child I had a desire to please, I hated getting into trouble, therefore thoroughly respected authority, had a relevantly pleasant attitude – but my mom may beg to differ. I’m just going to go ahead and out her right now, though…she’s got a vivid imagination and a lying problem.

Haha, just kidding mom! But all jokes aside, probably the worst thing I ever did in my adolescence was break into a cabin, steal a beer and chug, chug, pass it with one of my best friends, Holly Efurd. Just your typical breaking and entering, theft and underage drinking. Okay, so that constitutes prison, but before you judge me, let me explain. We were under the impression said cabin was Holly’s dad’s lake cabin, only to discover at a later date that in fact, it was not. Another apology for the true owner of this certain cabin whose origins I shall not speak of.

There was a six-pack of beer in the fridge and because we were wild, crazy and had already wrapped and vandalized our own house the night before, we were out of options for thrill seeking. We decided to snatch a beer and try it. Hold your gasps of amazement at our daring and dangerous shenanigans.

Well, we took one drink each and decided to go scour Momma Joyce’s (Joyce Efurd, Holly’s grandmother) kitchen pantry for some additives to make this hot keystone taste a little better. We jacked her sugar, vanilla and almond extract and lemon juice, went back to our tree (aka covert ops headquarters), and loaded that beer up with all of our flavor enhancers. Well, our second chug, chug, pass was our last and we poured the rest of it out. Of course we pretended to be drunk for the next seven minutes, but we learned a valuable lesson that day. Always steal the whiskey and leave the beer.

In my defense, I totally went to church that night. I specifically remember that because I sat with the older boys that day. I knew my place in society was much too mature for the rest of the tenth graders on the front row. Sorry mom, Momma Joyce and Daddy Jack. And also Holly, because I just publicly ratted us out, love ya...call me.

Now as far as Shaun having to pay for his raising? Ho-ho-hold up! That means I actually will be the one paying for it! Dear sweet Jesus, take me now. The topic of discussion on our first date should have been “what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” Let’s see, Shaun was the kid that got bored, then put on skis, roped a steer and invented a new extreme sport called, “cowboy mud skiing.” He also would pasture knee-board while roped to a dirt bike, which once caught on fire with two boys on it. He got into multiple fights, tried to go buy a can of snuff at 12, shot everything out of the skies and trees, let his friends shoot cars with paintball guns out of HIS truck, partied like it was 1999 every weekend UNTIL he turned 21, ran from cops on his souped-up four wheeler right through down town Pittsburg – well all of this “illegal stuff,” let’s just say he may or may not have done it. However, we can conclude that it’s not fair for ME, to have to endure the payment of Shaun Oglesby’s raising.

But alas. I was doomed before our four children were twinkles in our eyes. He gave me his heart and his curse. With our double-trouble oldest at 10, and our youngest at 3, paying for his raising has given me enough stories to keep y’all entertained for decades.

I hope y’all stay tuned as I look back through the trials, smiles and lessons learned in my crazy life.