Drinkin’ Grass, Hearin’ Voices

There’s one of those fru-fru juice shops near the church which not only offers delicious frosty fruit smoothies but, among other things, fresh cut sod to drink. Those of you in California are probably way past this craze by now, but I can’t help but think it odd every time I walk in and see the nice green sprouting sod patches on a shelf above the smoothie work station. Usually, there’s a swath or two which have been freshly mown down and sold for a few bucks to some member of the Health Illuminati to drink.

Okay, truth be known, I’ve only ever been in this establishment twice … and both times, I kid you not, this 300 year old man – the same one, I believe – came in for a shot of the green grass juice (he even brought a thermos for them to fill with those watery green yard clippin’s).

No kidding. He looks 300 years old, but in spectacular health. I mean, he dresses like a jogger, with little runner-man muscles all poppin’ out and stuff … but his face, hair, and wrinkles betray his true age which is, as I said (but, honestly, I’m guessing here): at least 300 years old.

So, I got to thinking: Maybe I should get me a shot o’ that sod …

That’s when the voice of my Dad popped into my head. Well, not really … I mean, he doesn’t actually SAY anything; he just kinda moves his head (in my head) a little … which, well, says it all.

My Dad, who passed away 4 years ago, lives on – loud and clear – in my head.

Speaking of sod, my Dad, and all …

When I was a kid, every time we passed a cemetery (and I do mean, every time) he’d say, “Son, people are just dyin’ to get in there!”

It was one of those things that’s funny the first 5 times you hear it … and then not funny again until about the 5,000th time. But, passing cemeteries (though not EVERY time) I still think of it.

“People just dyin’ to get in there …”

In all fairness, what father doesn’t love to aggravate his children? I never really appreciated the ol’ Dad-drives-kid-crazy thing … when I was a kid. I just thought my parents were stupid. (I say that with lots of love Mom, cause I know you’re reading this.)

Take, for example, a recent Huneycutt family camping trip. We spent two nights in Brazos Bend State Park. It was Houston, it was June, and I’ll be doggoned if it weren’t just plain … H.O.T!

My son, early on, asked: “Dad, when are we going to build a fire?”

Y’all, it was 92 degrees in the shade!

In a very affected artsy voice, I said:

“When the Sun is in the sky …

there’s no need for the Fire …

in the pit.”

My three kids smiled.

That only encouraged me.

So, I repeated it: “When the Sun is in the sky … there’s no need for the Fire … in the pit.”

By about the 5th time, there came a chorus of voices: “Da-ad!”

I ask you: Did that stop me?

Absolutely not. What encouragement!

I told them, “Y’all just wait … I believe that’ll preach — ‘When the Sun is in the sky … there’s no need for the Fire … in the pit.’”

“Dad! Please … No!”

“Or, better yet, I might make a podcast or blog post about it …”

“When the Sun is in the sky …”

That’s when my son stopped dead in his tracks and turned to me in all seriousness, and said: “Dad, really … please stop.”

Heh heh.

And although his seriousness resembled that of my father’s when I think of drinking the green grass juice … I FELT victorious like my Dad must have felt when he’d gotten my goat as a kid.

Forgive me.

All this is to say … I’m away from the computer this week, on the road to North Carolina. No posts expected, comment approval may be sporadic. Twenty hours, one way, with the family.

Pray for me and mine, especially … mine.

Oops! Wrong picture …

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