Let sleep­ing an­ces­tors lie

The Covington News - - THE SECOND OPINION - David McCoy, a no­to­ri­ous sto­ry­teller and proud Yel­low Jacket, lives in Cov­ing­ton and can be reached at davm­c­coy@bell­south.net.

Could you ex­plain our present day to one of your an­ces­tors?

Say you were granted one hour with your great­great- great- great- great grand­fa­ther – a per­son I’m sure you’ve never met. How would you ex­plain the world to some­one so far re­moved from our time?

“Hi, Su­per G! Is it OK if I call you that? We only have an hour, and I don’t want to waste time with all that great-great-great-great­great non­sense, if that’s OK? What? Oh, sorry. I didn’t know that was ‘grand im­per­ti­nence.’ I was - Whoa! Did you se­ri­ously just hit me with a switch? Re­ally? You’re back from the dead for one hour, and you came pack­ing a hick­ory stick?

“Back off, old man! We don’t wal­lop peo­ple here. Abuse went out with those silly shoes and that high-col­lar shirt you’re wear­ing. Hey! Again with the switch? If you hit me one more time, I’m leav­ing, and you can sit here and watch ‘Amer­i­can Idol’ for the rest of the hour for all I care!

“What? – I mean – ‘Sir?’ - Oh. It’s a TV show. Tele­vi­sion. ...TV... No. I didn’t say TB. You don’t have to cover your mouth; no one has TB here, and... you’re al­ready dead! TV is en­ter­tain­ment; didn’t you have en­ter­tain­ment back in your time?

“Oh. ‘No time for folly.’ Well, we live a lot longer now, so we bud­get in a bit of folly and we add in some falderal just for grins. Look, we only have 45 min­utes left... do you mind low­er­ing your stick?”

I’m con­fi­dent your hour with “Su­per G” would be per­fectly wasted with him swing­ing that switch and seething over “those harpies and har­lots” on the cover of the lin­gerie cat­a­log - the one he keeps glanc­ing at on the cof­fee ta­ble.

No, you need a bet­ter strat­egy. Wipe the drool from his chin, and tell him it’s still 1843. Make him think he just dozed off for a few hours, and ev­ery­one he knows went to the black­smith’s shop for a new horse­shoe.

Don’t even try to ex­plain any­thing about the present. The liv­ing don’t un­der­stand life, so why place such a bur­den on the dead? Oh, and take that lin­gerie cat­a­log away from him be­fore he leaves.

He tucked it in his waist­coat while you were dodg­ing that last wild swipe from his hick­ory stick, the old repro­bate!


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