Pop

My father died of cancer when I was 2 1/2, my brother was 3 months old, mom, 24. It was a surprise, no notice, and over within 2 weeks. You move on. Sometimes, with the help of well meaning people, who think they know what's best for you, but have no time or patience of their own. That is how my poor Uncle Aubry became my mentor and my Pop in the fall of 1961.
The girls, Mom and her sister Vonalee, thought that I needed a father figure that fall. I had been devastated at leaving my asphalt jungle with the monkey bars that I hung from for hours while I watched and waited. I hated the heat, the dust and the fact their was no asphalt anywhere. I stood at the end of our sidewalk looking out at the dust, tears leaving tracks on my dirty face wailing, "No, not here," for hours.
It was decided that Aunt Vona's husband, Aubry, should watch me. After all Mom and Aunt Vona were both watching 2 & 3 year olds, and Pop's time had been freed to "just the farming" because school had started and the rest of the "cousins" were all old enough to attend. According to Aunt Vona there was no reason Pop couldn't step up to the plate and entertain me.
He started by leading me down the hill towards the barn with the cautionary advice, "It'd be best if you step where I step Missy." Missy, because he hated the name my mother had given me declaring that it was pretentious, and much too long for such a little girl. So it was that I became his "Missy" and he became my "Pop" as I trailed him down the hill, over the 4" X 6" plank that spanned the irrigation ditch, and across the cow pie covered field.
Having much shorter legs it wasn't long before I had stepped ankle deep in a fresh pile of steaming cow dung. "Oh no, nasty Poppa," I cried as the cow poop slid over my shoe soaking my pretty white anklets. Pop picked me up and dug my shoe out of the quick sand like muck, rinsing it in the ditch. and laughing as he answered, "Hush now Missy, that's not nasty that's manure. That's money you smell." I knew money was a good thing because my mother was constantly lamenting her lack of it, and, as my tears dried, I took into account this new bit of information.
I followed Pop step for step occasionally running into a bit more "money", and it was without a worry in my mind that I proudly entered Aunt Vona's pristine kitchen for lunch. Mouth salivating, ready for the huge bowl of steaming country gravy and fresh biscuits already on the table, I looked up to see her eyes turning into the back of her head like a horse tied to a fence during a lightning storm as she hissed, "Get those nasty shoes out of my clean kitchen Elisia!"
Startled I replied, "That's not nasty; that's manure. That's money," confident in my innocence. Her wild eyes turned focusing on my now emerging Pop as she tried to catch her breath, "Aubry did you teach that little girl such a word?" as she grabbed the broom and chased him out the door, and Pop ran laughing down the hill exclaiming, "What'd you want me to tell her it was, Honey?'
The next day dawned the same with the ladies declaring that they had their hands full, and he would just have to keep an eye on me again. Poor Pop, like he didn't have enough to do milking 200 head twice a day of prime cattle. Jersey, Guernsey, and Holstein mixed together to create the finest milk Mayflower could buy, the richest ice cream Aunt Vona could make and the best butter Grandma could churn.
Pop, was of Dutch descent. stoic most of the time, hard working, but with a clear direction of where the butt end of his jokes were intended to land. That day when we were alone he leaned in and lowered his voice, "Missy, next time some one asks your name I want you to say 'Poontang, ask me again and I'll tell you the same'." I listened intently and caught the fun of the quirky rhyme as we echoed back and forth across the barn like a cheer at a football game,
"Hey, what's your name"
"Poontang ask me again and I'll tell you the same!"
Eagerly I ran to the kitchen door pulling off my shoes as I pulled open the door. Greeted the smell of a farmer's lunch as I cried, "Aunt Vona, Aunt Vona, ask me my name."
"Good Lord Honey, I know you're name."
"But you have to ask me Aunt Vona! You have to ask me my name!"
"Ok. What's your name?" she asked.
"Poontang! Ask me again I'll tell you the same!" I proudly yelled back, big grin on my face, I watched her eyes turn in her head, as she reached for the broom all the while chasing Pop's laugh out the door, and down the hill.