organized chaos

Well it’s already been a week, and I suppose I should post the next chapter of (Almost) Everything I Know I Learned in East Texas. 

If this is your first visit, and you want to start at the beginning of this series go HERE and scroll down for the timeline, then #1, and #2.  Otherwise, just click below. 

The Rubber Finger is a Dad’s Greatest Gift

For most of my stint at the lake, I believed Donnie to be my real father. A scary prospect to be sure, and I’ll give you lots of reasons why throughout this book. Donnie grew up in East Texas, and most if not all of his family lived there. He has a fraternal twin aptly named Ronnie; Donald and Ronald on their birth certificates, and one sister named Cindy Lou. Donnie’s parents split and remarried when he was young and by the time I came into the picture I had two sets of grandparents on Donnie’s side alone.*

My mother says I just loved Donnie when I was under the age of five. But something in the keen Texas air turned him into something I would hate and fear for years to come. On good days, when he had only a slight buzz going, he charmed the chew right out of the park guests mouths. If I was there, he’d break out what he endearingly referred to as “The Rubber Finger.” He took his ring finger and stuck it out away from the other fingers and shook until magically it started looking rubberized. If that wasn’t magic trick enough, he then would smack us kids in the head or arm or wherever, cackling like a hyena while we struggled away and ran for it. I do remember times when this was funny. “Hey, Daddy! Get out the Rubber Finger!” But as I got a little older, it started to hurt and the fun was over.

One of the first lessons we learned in Texas from Donnie was the proper way to address adults. Almost immediately we were required to spout, “Yes, Sir” and “Yes, Ma’am” in response to any grown up. That’s all fine and good, although I never understood why we waited to cross the Texas border to learn that lesson. I guess he had something to prove to the family with his well-mannered children. It’s just Texas protocol.

Another thing Donnie taught me was how not to hang clothes on a hanger. As I approached the helping out age, my mom required my help with various chores. Being the typical oldest child, I set out to prove my worth with the laundry. As Park Superintendent, Donnie wore a uniform. A very crisp uniform, which would later stand out in sharp contrast to his messy lifestyle. He donned a white button shirt complete with sewn on tag above the pocket, naming his company and himself, and navy pants, always ironed with that lovely crease down the front of each leg. Oh, and of course the ball cap perched on his head; company issued.

Not long after I finished my first load of laundry, got the clothes on hangers and distributed them to the various closets, Donnie gave me his first report. The exact words escape me at the moment, but it did include “Denise!” (my mother), “Do you think it would be too much to ask to get this girl to do the laundry the right way?” And then , “Blankety, blank, blank, blank, my clothes have to be hung blankety this way, blank, Carrie Louise.”

From then on, I had secret fantasies about sticking those uniforms in the blades of one of the motor boats before I put them on the hangers next time.

Besides the Rubber Finger, Donnie had one lazy arm and two lazy legs. The other arm reserved it’s strength for holding a beer can. As he downed more brew, his butt became melded with whatever chair he sat in. Several times, while I rested peacefully in my bedroom at the back of the trailer, I heard, “Carrie Louise! Come in here and change this channel for me.” Out I would come to the living room, while Donnie sat comfortably with his Budweiser Buzz going and before I’d even get to the TV. he’d say, “Grab me another beer first.” Usually channel surfing for Donnie didn’t take long since we only had three channels. It’s too bad that Rubber Finger didn’t work on the television. Now that would’ve been a neat trick.