Once, Again

As kids, my brother, Rudy and I were always looking for excitement. We had three other brothers and sisters, but they just weren’t that exciting. So, every chance we had, Rudy’s plastic GI Joe figures were battling in the tub, covered in mud or flying through the air from an over grown Pecan Tree. We did everything together, except strip my dolls of their lame and boring outfits, remove their limbs and toss them into the air only to land in his freshly dug mud puddles. He’d sneak that in while I helped mom clean the house. Poor dolls…they never had a chance. Their blonde polyester hair looked dirty no matter what I did. We didn’t have videos and video games, back then. Our fun was extremely limited. If it didn’t involve water, we were definitely bored. But, when our cousin, Priscilla came into town to stay with her loud and crazy grandmother…our Great Aunt Della…things would make a turn for the river. Aunt Della lived in a tiny white house covered in dirt that sat comfortably on a riverbank “smack” in the middle of the big city of San Anton’. She drove a brand new Cadillac every year and filled it with stray dogs from all over the city. And every time she drove up to her tiny mud stained house, dogs of all breeds would jump out of their steel luxury ride and corner anyone in their sight as the circus music blared from their huge, shiny roadster. But…we had to be there. Rudy and I had to be a part of my cousins’ strange and colorful world. Anywhere, but home meant excitement.
“Fill up the dog bowls!” “Bring in the water hose!” “Pick up the trash!” “Scoop up the poop!” she’d yell. It went on and on and on. And just when we wished we were back at home…the fun would begin. “You kids are in my way”, she’d mumble. “Why don’t you all go down to the river and fish for a while?” “Yes, maaam!” we‘d squeal, as we slid down the rocky- riverbank. Once we were in that river, the rest of the world would disappear. We were in our world and nothing else mattered. The mud under our shoes was all squishy. The fish that swam by our tiny legs were all slimy. And the worms that we dug up were always bigger than the last. We were in Heaven. Our poorly designed fishing poles made from found sticks and tattered string never, once, pulled up a single fish. They’d become barricades marking off our worm infested, turtle floatin’, frog hoppin’ territories. And the only thing that could scare us out of the water…were snakes. Deadly Water Moccasins hid in our small forts and swam by our pruney-skinned bodies as the Angels from Heaven watched over us. We remained unharmed and unscathed by the rivers natural wildlife. But, when it was time to crawl out of our muddy haven, smiles dropped, eyelids hung and the stench of the river would erupt. We stank like “Nobody’s Bizness”. We definitely needed a good scrubbin’. And, back then there was no such thing as anti-bacterial soap, but who needed soap when Aunt Della had a good old-fashioned water hose to hose us down with.
I can still hear her screaming at us from the back porch as she made a beeline towards our guilt-written bodies. “Hey! Get out of that water!” “You’re supposed to be fishing!” “No one gave you permission to go into the water!” “No! No! No!” “You had no business going into that water!” “No business!” “Are you a “goody, goody” or a “baddy, baddy?” she’d ask with squinting eyes. I’d reply, “a baddy, baddy” with a pout ridden face and a low hangin’ head. Rudy would laugh, while Priscilla pinched her already thin lips, together…rolled her eyes and sashayed back into the house. Even as a kid, I knew her stench went way beyond the smell of fish. “Listen” Aunt Della said with a crooked, over worked finger and a paralyzing glare. “Go call your mother…and tell her…to tell your father…to come and pick you and your brother up.” And just like that…the party was over. Aunt Della was angry…we stank like dead fish… and Dad… was on his way. Our fate usually lay in an old and tattered, somewhat black, leather belt that choked my dad’s 34” waist…everyday. We knew it as…an “ass whoopin”. Today…it’s Child Abuse.
Aunt Della owned an Army Surplus Store that wreaked of old, Army material often serving as a litter box for big fat rodents. Every time we made a family trip to her store…hard, back breaking work was sure to follow. My Summers’ included moving canoes, oars, tents, sleeping bags and tires. Rudy’s Summers’ included separating belt buckles, canteens, and pocket knives. If, I…could lift it…we moved it. And if Aunt Della couldn’t see through it…we cleaned it. Windex was definitely my… “right hand man”. We have, since…split up. Rudy and I made a little bit of money, but even as a couple of poor kids from the “bad” side of town, it just wasn’t worth roughing it in that nasty, dirty store. We hated working there, but I think we knew it kept the river door open.
Looking back, it was kind of a small price to pay for the greatest seats on earth. During Fiesta week, we were given “prime” window seats…highly desirable…clean…window seats. She would allow our entire family to come and watch the Battle of Flowers Parade from her store windows. Mom bought the toilet paper…Aunt Della provided the beer… and gobs of sodas. The only downfall was utilizing the “dungeonous” bathroom. It was cold. It was wet. And boy…was it scary. The concrete walls cried 24/7. The swinging light bulb zapped on and off due to a well-known, yet, highly ignored electrical short. And the big fat rats loved to say hello while you relieved yourself. Screaming wasn’t an option, though…and neither was peeing in your pants, or you’d have to deal with dad…and…no one…wanted to deal with dad. We preferred his gut, choking strap of leather on…his pants…not ours. And, yet, we continued to chug down the tooth decaying liquid. Go figure. There were only two, well organized forces that had the power to cease our madness…street cleaners and pooper- scoopers. This meant the parade was over as well as the battle between mind and bladder. My crazy outspoken Aunt Della blessed us with sodas, window seats and lifelong memories. Fiesta week was definitely a “goody, goody”. Thank You, Aunt Della.
Aunt Della baked and cooked with what Hispanics call “carino”. And she always did it with several dogs roaming, fighting and sleeping under her feet. She was never alone. At times it looked as though she was talking to herself, but we’d soon find out that she was talking to or reprimanding one of her strays. She loved each and every one of them furry rascals…more than any human being alive. I didn’t know it, back then, but those damn dogs were her true family. They were her life. She needed them just as much as they needed her. She was a crazy old lady as far as my brother and I were concerned…a crazy old lady… that didn’t like kids. The only reason we were allowed to go over was to keep my cousin, Priscilla busy…A spoiled brat with no sense of humor and no sign of a heart. Rudy and I didn’t like her, very much, but we liked the change of scenery she was a part of. We loved the river and all of its’ danger. We worshiped Aunt Della’s pooch filled Cadillac, and never forgot the fun-filled moments we had in our window seats.
All grown up with a family of my own is when I really started to appreciate my Great Aunt Della. She was hard and callused, but she loved my mom more than she was willing to admit. They were buddies, confidants and really good friends. They watched Spurs Games…drank beer…and got drunk. They watched Cowboys games…drank beer…and got drunk. But, most of all they became really close…drank beer …and laughed till they peed in their pants. And when my mom had to move away…sadness moved in. My Aunt Della lost her friend…her last remaining strays and her immediate family lived too far away to visit. I was asked to step in and help her out a little. So, I ran a few errands, did some yard work and really started to get to know my Great Aunt Della. I never planned on loving that crazy old bird, but I found myself learning so much about her life and understanding why she was so callused. At the young age of 16, she had two young daughters, no husband and no money. She found her way into the business world and worked her ass off…a single mother living in a man’s world. How did she do it? What gave her the will? Respect was too small a word for what I felt. She was amazing. Aunt Della was able to provide for her children, rescue dogs and run successful businesses. She gave her children everything she never had. Unfortunately, her family never gave back. They didn’t have time for her, and they always found a reason to fight with her, but she always had my mom. It was my mother who wiped her drool, brushed her hair and rubbed her back, while she lay in that awful nursing home. It was my mother who gave her time, her heart and her prayers when no one else would. It was my mother who cried for her safety, her wellness and her sadness as Aunt Della drifted towards the gates of Heaven. Aunt Della had a huge, ungrateful family who couldn’t wait for her to die. She tried to hang on, again and again…but… her body eventually gave out. I don’t know where she is, exactly, but I can still feel her strength. As I write these thoughts, salt filled tears are racing down my pale and tired face. But, it’s only because I know she wasn’t ready to go. She was alone in a terrible, unfamiliar place and she couldn’t wait to go home. I wish I could have saved her and kept her here a little longer. I wish I had done things differently and I hate that she would escape my mind. My prayers go out to her soul and out to my mamas’ heart. I know my Aunt Della won’t rest, until she has my mama by her side…once, again.

Love,

Sue