oh tom

oh tom

I don’t believe they lied to us as children, not for one instant.

* * *

Henry Tillema was my political science teacher at MIZZOU. And I don't remember a single thing he taught me about politics except for an unrelated comment he made while we were taking our seats. He said that he was a descendant of Johnny Appleseed. And that Johnny Appleseed wasn't the man we thought he was.

“He was disturbed. Because he couldn’t work, he was given bags of seed to occupy his time. He walked barefoot around the countryside, firmly planting himself into American history.”

Who are the Johnny Appleseeds of today? Have we killed folklore?

* * *

I had always heard that polite little boys helped little old ladies across the street. And I distinctly remember standing at the corner of Main and Jefferson waiting for such a gray haired, cane bearing invalid, shakily looking this way and that for assistance. But all the old ladies I knew drove to the grocery store, even though it was less than two blocks away. And they all topped off the 8 ounces of leaded gasoline they burned up, just in case.

But just because I never saw it is no reason to believe it never happened.

* * *

Once, when I was around 7 or 8, I decided I would walk along the tracks until I reached my grandmother’s house. This was back in those days when smoking was healthy and child molesters had yet to be born, so I packed a handful of bologna and my grandfather’s WWII canteen that tasted metallic, and I started on my way. I knew it was far, and that the train tracks went one direction only, towards town, where the cast of That’s Incredible! had once passed, and I believe I didn’t like that show because Cathy Lee Crosby was seeing Joe Theismann, and Joe Theismann was no friend of the Dallas Cowboys.

And I must have walked for days, because it seemed dark when I got there, and though I had just passed my first test of manhood, my grandmother didn’t seem very surprised to see me, but instead just gave me a tamale and a glass of sweet tea. I went outside, crawled up into the pecan tree, because I always did. Then came down, sighed, and began my journey back home along the train tracks.

By the time I got home, even the lightning bugs had turned out for the night, and only Max was awake, wagging his tail. My mom and sister were asleep, so no one would listen to my great adventure. In all honesty, it was mostly just walking, but even then, I had a propensity for exaggeration, and could have made up something fine and magical.

* * *

The other day, I walked into the kitchen, and noticed that my daughter was watching an episode of Tom and Jerry. I sat down with her, always eager to reminisce, and that’s when Tom rolled himself a smoke and blew HOWDY for a buxom cat with red lipstick.

Alarmed, I ran to my computer, and then ran back to the living room, realizing I had forgotten my scotch and soda, and then ran back to the computer. I pulled up Yahoo!, clicked as fast as I could to Yahoo!Maps!, and typed in my grandmother’s street address.

And digging as deep as the memory would allow, I recalled the street where we once lived along the train tracks, the site of that first step of that first journey, that took days and days. I typed it in, and then waited patiently for Yahoo!Maps! to tell me how far that distance was that I covered, so many years ago, when smoking was healthy and child molesters had yet to be born.

1.3 miles.

* * *

Well somebody sure as hell lied to us.