WHY UNCLE ALBERT NEVER MARRIED

Daddy said:

This is the truth...

~~~

Dear old Uncle Albert was a kind, sweet, gentle soul. He lived alone in a well-constructed, sparsely furnished farm house. We visited him often. We walked down the hill and around the corner. 

The second oldest son of Nehemiah and Sukie, he was a fine gentleman and a skilled farmer. He always had time to talk to his nieces and nephews. He cheerfully gave dimes to us for our March of Dimes cards, and he bought magazine subscriptions to support school functions. 

~~~

Daddy said: 

When Albert was a young man, he had a pretty girlfriend named Mary. She lived just across the way. He loved her and she didn't have eyes for anybody but him.

"Looks like we need to set the date," he told her, while they were taking a Sunday stroll.

"Why don't you come to my house next Friday night for supper?"

It was a fancy meal. Mary and her mama put on the dog. They laid out their best white tablecloth and fried up two pullets. They cooked mashed potatoes and gravy, peas with okra, biscuits, and they opened some blackberry jam. They took down their big platter from top shelf and stacked the chicken on it.

Albert showed up on time all dressed up in his best britches and his Sunday go-to-meeting white shirt.

"You sit here, Albert. Mary pointed to the foot of the table. Her pa  sat at the head. Mary and her ma and all the other little young ones sat on the sides.

"Let's bow our heads,: Mary's pa said. "Every head was bowed and every eye closed."

 Albert opened his eyes during the prayer and checked his clothes. In the dim kerosene lamp light, it looked like he left his fly open. He hadn't unfolded his napkin yet, but there was a white cloth in his lap, Must have been his shirt. He tried not to make a fracas tucking his shirt back in.  Maybe his shirt had come untucked from the top of his pants instead of his fly.

Everybody talking to him at once made him nervous. He tried to take food on his plate as it was passed. When his hands were finally free, he tucked what he thought was his white shirt inside his pants.

As soon as the meal was over and he stood, the dishes and remaining chicken came crashing onto the floor. Biscuits slapped him in the face, and blackberry jam splashed on his shirt. As he backed away, the tablecloth followed him. Dishes broke, and the little ones cackled.

While he walk toward the front door, the table cloth dragged between his legs.  He jerked the tablecloth out of his britches. Not taking the time to grab his hat, he ran out the door and never went back.

~~~

Stories my parents told me linger within my mind. When I write, the tales inspire scenes appearing on my computer screen. This bit of family history became a pivotal event in House of Seven. a book full of fun.