Grey Pride

Having grey hair has never bothered me. Actually, I’m quite proud of my grey hair. After all, each strand of grey has been hard earned—I raised three sons. Take, for instance, the case of the slanting couch.

It occurred to me one evening that something wasn’t quite right with our davenport. I noticed that a guest sitting on one end of it was higher in the air than a guest on the opposite end. I also noticed that same guest grappling with the couch in an effort to keep from sliding downhill into the lap of the person on the other end.

At first an explanation for this phenomenon escaped me. But after thinking on it a few days, I stumbled upon a possible answer. The house we lived in had two stories--the upper floor a huge loft with a railing across the opened end of it. Below that railing, and against the staircase, sat our couch on the ground floor.

I gathered my sons and asked them if they’d been jumping from the upper floor onto the couch.

“No way, Dad,” said eldest son.

“Hmmm,” I mumbled, standing there, arms folded, rubbing my chin. “Have y’all been jumping from of the top of the stairs onto the couch?” I asked.

Again, eldest son answered for all three of them, “Nuh, uh.”

I could see this investigation could take a while unless I found a shortcut to the truth. I found that shortcut in the form of another question.“Well, did you jump from any of the steps onto the couch?” I inquired.

Grinning widely, and between giggles, second son answered my question, “Yeah, we jumped from the third step.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that right off?”

“You didn’t ask about the third step,” he answered.

Geez, talk about splitting hairs. The kid probably has a great future in law, don’t you think?Another incident happened one night when former Mrs. Bagley and I returned from the supermarket. Upon entering the house, we found ourselves locked out of our own bedroom and could hear the vacuum roaring from behind the door.

“Wow!” I said to ex, “the kids are cleaning our room to surprise us.”“What great guys,” she responded.

Well, that wasn’t exactly what went down. Come to find out, while the former Mrs. Bagley and I were gone the boys had been horsing playing in our bedroom. Somewhere amongst the pillow fighting, the wrestling on our bed, and the Nerf ball throwing, a reading lamp on the nightstand was knocked over, shattering the bulb and spraying glass everywhere.

They replaced the bulb and then got busy cleaning their mess, hoping to finish before we got home. In other words, they were only trying to save their sneaky, disobedient little hides. ARGH!

So, you see, I wear my grey hair with pride. Each grey strand serves as a medal of honor for the many battles fought in the war known as child rearing. And though I might be through raising my own children, Sweetie still has young’uns at home so . . . hey, what was that crash?!

Ooooh, I feel another grey hair coming on.

6 comments:
Little Wing said...
I had to track you down and tell you that the comment you left on a blog, Viagra Falls was damn funny!I shall be back, great blog you have!

Monday, January 28, 2008 11:27:00 PM EST
skrpndiva said...
I wish I could be so positive about grey hair, but alas, I cannot be as I've been somewhat grey since the age of 25.Jacquie

Tuesday, January 29, 2008 12:38:00 AM EST
Jamie Dawn said...
I know that feeling of hearing a crash and wondering who broke what and how bad the damage is.When my kids think they've cleaned something up, it's never really cleaned up. I always have to go back over it to really get the job done.I don't have gray hair yet, but I'm working on it. When the gray does show up one of these days, I'll just keep coloring over it and pretend it's not there.You wear your gray hair well. Luckily for you, it hasn't aged you. I love the story of your lopsided couch.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008 12:48:00 AM EST
Sharon said...
Oh, I am SURE I have been the cause of a great many grey hairs!!

Thursday, January 31, 2008 9:23:00 AM EST
JunieRose2005 said...
:) So- you're in for some more adventures...AND some more grey hairs!Junie

Thursday, January 31, 2008 9:58:00 AM EST
Britmum said...
OMG now I know whats wrong with Scraggy....way too funny!!

Just Call Me Bubba, Y'all

You know, I never considered my family as backwoods but after a recent incident, I think I’m going to put in my “bubba teeth,” buy back my old truck, and return to talking with a thick hillbilly accent. On a Sunday evening, eldest son and his wife were on their way home from my place when, in an attempt to enter his neighborhood, Drunky the driver made a left turn at an intersection . . . right into eldest son and daughter-in-law (at the time, daughter-in-law was 7 months pregnant with my first grandchild). BAM! They collided. Thirty-something-year-old Drunky kept going, straight home to hide under momma’s skirt! Unfortunately for him, there was only one way in and one way out of his subdivision and, also unfortunately for him, when you mess with one Bagley you mess with the whole Bagley clan. After a frantic call from eldest son (paramedics were taking them to the hospital to make sure daughter-in-law and baby were OK and would the family come down to find Drunky the driver and keep him from evading police?), I spread the word and Bagley’s poured into the area like vultures on road kill. The scene resembled something like the movie Next of Kin with Patrick Swayze. It didn’t take long before we found Drunky’s damaged vehicle--it was parked in the driveway of his residence. Now, I was content to just stay in the car and await the arrival of the police. But ooooh noooo, not Billy Bud and Bubba Junior, referring to younger brother and youngest son, respectively. Positive it was Drunky’s car, they headed straight to the front door. So, being that I’m a little more level headed than the rest of the clan (that’s a scary thought, isn’t it?), I quickly hopped out of the car and caught up with them, hoping to keep the dogs (sort to speak) heeled. We knocked on the front door. Drunky’s momma answered. Yes, she knew what her son had done. He’d told her everything, but she didn’t know what to do—perhaps the person she was on the phone with at the time we knocked on her door could’ve advised her. I suspect that person was the family attorney. Or maybe the person Drunky was talking to on his phone while we were talking with his momma could’ve advised them of what to do—I doubt he was talking to Aunt Betty about a recipe for fruitcake. Our little wait for the cops went along pretty much without incident, unless, of course, you count Billy Bob Junior’s little outburst in the driveway.You see, he was on the phone talking to eldest son. Eldest son called from the hospital to give us an update on daughter-in-law and unborn grandson. “Does the guy show any remorse?” Eldest son asked youngest son. And that’s when Drunky the driver almost got an education about what can happen when you hit-and-run a member of the Bagley clan. “You think an [expletive extracted] who’d hit a vehicle with a pregnant woman in it and then run to mommy would feel any remorse?!” Youngest son loudly replied. It was then that Drunky sauntered over to the doorway. He heard every word youngest son had just said to eldest son. “Hey, Cuz!” he slurred. I guess he didn’t appreciate the adjective youngest son used to describe him. Drunky started to say more but upon hearing the deafening click of shotgun hammers being pulled back, the rattle of Diamondbacks in the burlap bag of our cousin “the snake handler,” the whirling of axes spinning in hands, and the sounds of bow strings being pulled back, arrows at the ready (OK, so I’m exaggerating; it’s called poetic license, folks), he hesitated. That was the opportunity younger brother and I needed to quickly convince Drunky that in the interest of his health it would be best to not interact with youngest son. He went back to hiding deep within the confines of Momma’s home. After awhile, a sheriff’s deputy arrived. He gave a quizzical look at the Bagley clan, so we quickly told him who we all were and what we were doing there. Our job being done, we left . . . or at least tried to. You see, though we made no verbal or physical threats to Drunky or his family, I guess the sight of all those Bagleys on her property made momma drunky a bit nervous and somewhat timid. But once the cops were there she became a bulldog, demanding to know our names and phone numbers. We curtly told her it was none of her business, that she had no need for that information. Evidently Drunky’s momma thought otherwise for she followed us to street. This time more of the Bagley clan got into it with momma drunky and their voices got louder and louder as the merits of her request were argued back and forth. Finally, a police officer stepped in and told us we needed to leave. We filed back into our vehicles and did just that; we left. Whew, glad that’s over with. Now we can let the law take it from here, I thought. I was soooo very wrong. We didn’t even get out of the neighborhood before eldest son called us from the hospital asking us to return to Drunky’s. “Um,” I said, “that might not be such a great idea. The police asked us to leave. Things got a little heated between Drunky’s momma and the family.” “Well I have some information they needed and I want to know if it’s OK to take our valuables out of our vehicle,” he responded. “OK,” I said, “We’ll go back, relay your info., and check about retrieving your stuff.” Sheepishly I drove back to Drunky’s house, pulled the car to the curb, and cut off my lights so momma Drunky couldn’t read my auto tag. Younger brother exited the car to deal with the cops. We were told that even though the incident took place in a residential area the Florida Highway Patrol would be in charge of the actual investigation. We should go back to the scene of the wreck and await the F. H. P. FHP arrived. We told him who we all were, gave him the information eldest son had given us, and were allowed to gather valuables from son’s SUV. Then the officer made a request that made me snap my neck in his direction, wondering if I’d heard him correctly. We'd told the officer that we'd found Drunky and his car and that we'd sat on him until the sheriff arrived. The officer then made a request that made me snap my neck in his direction, wondering if I'd herd him correctly, “Can you show me where he lives?” Are you kidding me? I thought. Stalking laws were coming to mind. But I have to admit, the thought of making Drunky’s family nervous with our constant presence made me smile. For sure, three trips to their house (the third time leading a FHP officer) in a matter of hours let them know they were dealing with a family that was angry and would not rest until Drunky received his just dues—hey, it’s the code of the hills (insert a recording of Dueling Banjos here). I once again cut the lights to my car, cut them back on after we drove past Drunky’s residence, then skedaddled out of there as fast as I could. But that wasn’t the end of the visits by our clan. At 1: am, when eldest son and wife were released from the hospital, eldest son asked his uncle to drive by Drunky’s so he could get a picture of the damage to Drunky’s car before he could have it repaired. Younger brother was more than happy to oblige. By now paranoia had set in on Drunky’s family. When brother and eldest son were snapping pictures of the damaged car, Drunky’s sister (she was sitting in her car near the corner, guarding her parents’ home) drove up and testily asked what they were doing. The deafening click of shotgun hammers being pulled back, the rattle of Diamondbacks in the burlap bag of our cousin “the snake handler,” the whirling of axes spinning in hands, and the sounds of bow strings being pulled back, arrows at the ready, soften her stance and the clan left without incident. The next day everyone scrambled back to their homes, a little disappointed they didn’t get to give Drunky the driver an education. As for me, well, this whole incident has left me a bit rattled. Every time the phone rings I break into a cold sweat, worrying it’s the producers of Jerry Springer calling to see if our family would like to be on the show. Well, we certainly wouldn’t oblige them . . . unless, of course, we could tote our homes behind our trucks on the drive there. Posted by Doug Bagley at 10:09 PM 6 comments: kristi noser said... Doug, you're one of the few people I know (and I don't even knowya) that can make an DD accident funny. To tell the truth, even before your "dueling banjos" comment, I was hearing the music in my head. I'm glad everyone is ok, did Drunky get what was coming to him? (and I'm not talking about youngest son giving him an "ass whuppin'") Sunday, January 20, 2008 6:48:00 AM EST cmk said... That was one funny, great read! :D Sunday, January 20, 2008 1:19:00 PM EST skrpndiva said... OMG, too funny. Sounds like something I'd do, but I don't think I would have made it out of there without popping drunky a good one!Jacquie Sunday, January 20, 2008 8:10:00 PM EST LZ Blogger said... Doug ~ So... Southern justice prevails? Drunky looks around at Bagley's and they all say... "NO! IT'S JUST US!" ~ jb///P.S. ~ I hope your "grandson to be" will hear this story and keep the tradition GOING for many more generations! Friday, January 25, 2008 6:21:00 PM EST Suzy said... I love your stories Doug. So descriptive.Glad son and pregnant DIL were OK anyway. Good on you Bagleys for protecting your own I say! Sunday, January 27, 2008 12:08:00 AM EST Renae said... Did drunky get what was coming to him? Hopefully something was done. I'm glad your son and daughter in law were ok. Sunday, January 27, 2008 2:07:00 PM EST