Uncle Cran returns for some schooling . . .

Viola High School

"Home of the Longhorns"

(Image from VHS Website)

Uncle Cran is again up to his old antics -- antics old enough to be 'antiques' -- for he recently visited Viola High School for the Reunion of the Class of '57! I was born that year! So, let's see . . . 52 years since 1957 . . . plus the 57 years already noted . . . makes Uncle Cran 109 years old, according to my calculations.

At any rate, Uncle Cran visited the "Home of the Longhorns" in the 'barn' depicted above.

(Parenthetically, I should confess that since my very own Salem High School is the "Home of the Greyhounds," then I suppose that I'll be visiting that 'kennel' one of these old days.)

As I was saying, Uncle Cran visited the old barn for his 52nd High School Reunion, and he -- of course -- has a report:

We have had a busy weekend.

This information tells us that Uncle Cran usually lazes about on his weekends, despite being a farmer who should be doing the same chores every day. The cattle don't take weekends off! But let us follow Uncle Cran along his wayward path:

Friday night Gay and I attended the annual Alumni Homecoming at Viola High School. There were several people there at the Friday evening homecoming who came to me and said they had read my tales that nephew Jeffery puts on his blog, Gypsy Scholar. Some were folks I hadn't met before. Gay told me later I need to be careful in the future about what gets revealed. Jeffery, a PhD professor in a university in South Korea, takes my tales, analyzes them, corrects and grades them, rips me apart, and publishes them with insightful, but disrepectful comments. I always forgive him, and whenever a past event drifts into my thoughts, I write it down, and the process continues.

I must thank Uncle Cran for his Christian attitude of forgiveness -- and for supplying this blog with an unending source of not-quite-Christian tales that have expanded my audience in ways that I hadn't known. Welcome to all Longhorns! You are about to read another of Uncle Cran's little misadventures:

It was good to see old acquaintences. Bobby Bridges, a classmate, called me over and asked me, "Do you know who this lady is?" I looked at her, and said, I know the face, but can't put a name to it." Turned out it was a former classmate, known to us as Marie Shelton. She had always gone by her middle name, and her name tag had her first name, so that threw me off. But I immediately recognized her as soon as she told me who she was. I hadn't seen her since my high school days.

Listen to Uncle Cran's excuses. He couldn't put a name to Ms. Shelton's face even though the lady was wearing a name tag! Uncle Cran surely learned something in school, but apparently not reading! Which might explain the malaprops we often encounter in his reports to Gypsy Scholar. But on to the reunion:

Then on Saturday from 9:00 am to 3:30 pm. we had a class reunion. Some classmates didn't come, but those of us who were there had a good time. We ate, drank (coffee & sodas only), visited, and exchanged some gifts, and even took a test to see what we could remember from our graduation year of 1957.

The highlight of the day was the return of a classmate, Larry Wasson, who brought his wife and son. I hadn't seen him since June, 1957, when he and I and another classmate were in basic training in Great Lakes Naval Training Center, in Illinois, near Chicago. He had changed less than any of us. As the old timers . . . (us) . . . would say, "I'd know that hide in a tanning factory." He has had an interesting life, and has done very well since our school days.

But notice that Uncle Cran does not tell us much about this Mr. Wasson, a man who has apparently been quite successful in life -- more successful than somebody, it seems -- and whose story would likely be interesting to hear. Instead, Uncle Cran talks about . . . himself, mostly, although occasionally mentioning others present:

I think I said more words during this time, than all 12 years of our school days, from 1st through 12th. Everyone had a good time, and Drucilla (Crotts) Tiliakos had the program well planned. She and Lois (Cantrell) Daniel deserve a lot of credit for all their effort to organize the day.

There was only one minor incident that slightly marred it for me . . . I will describe it:

Each classmate gave a resume of our life since graduation. It was interesting to hear each give his or her life story, and everyone enjoyed this.

Then my time came.

When I got to the part about meeting Gay and our marriage, I stated, "When we got married, we were both young, shy, inexperienced, and inhibited."

Then I continued, "Our first son was born 10 and 1/2 months later," and I heard someone, (who will not be identified), make the snide remark, "Sounds like Cran got over his inhibitions!"

There were a few (shall we say, sniggers?) as those two near but unconnected comments of mine were somehow mis-applied. This demonstrates that this lady, and perhaps others of my classmates, still had thoughts in their minds not exactly appropriate for such a gathering. But I will forgive and try to forget! As only I should.

Well, you were telling the story, Uncle Cran. Your audience was merely making explicit the connection that you had intended but left implicit. Uncle Cran now concludes his salacious tale, and closes with a reminder of one of life's two certainties, which he posted about on the Sunday morning of his busy weekend:

Today we will go to the Decoration Day (as we have always called it) at Elizabeth cemetery. I usually see someone at this annual event whom I haven't seen in years.

That would be Memorial Day, but I too recall it as Decoration Day. Incidentally, at Uncle Cran's advanced age of 109, he ought to be staying far away from cemeteries. No need to tempt fate and perhaps find oneself meeting a good many more individuals whom one hasn't seen for years and years.

Uncle Cran did add one final note, asking me to go easy on his misspellings and grammatical oddities . . . though he seems to have little hope of such:

But knowing you well, I suspect you will do your usual, and point out my flaws and twisted prose. My fate is once again in your hands. I would ask for mercy, but now realize that someone with a reptilian heart and cold natured disposition has no feelings of sympathy or remorse, and that such a plea would be disregarded; so no such plea will be offered.

I leave to my many readers -- especially my Longhorn readers -- to judge for themselves if I have treated with fairness a man who would label my warm heart a "reptilian" one.