The Freelance Retort: I Wonder

Photo By Jeroen van Oostrom

The Freelance Retort by Brian Moloney

It seems to me there should be a lot more watermelon patches than there are.

I mean, pretty much everywhere.

What with all the watermelon seeds spit out into lawns and fields all over the country, way back when…before they somehow mysteriously made all the seeds disappear…whoever they are, that do these things.

My mom’s backyard, alone, should have sprouted a couple of thousand watermelon plants, or bushes—or whatever it is they grow on—since the 60’s.

Spitting out the seeds was the best part of the whole watermelon experience…especially if you were as adept as spitting them for distance as I was.

Plus my accuracy was pretty precise, as well. I could nail my cousin’s ear from 10 feet, and he never knew what hit him.

So what happened to all those seeds?

You would think some of them would have taken root over the years.

And what of all those peach pits we buried on boring, hot summer afternoons, once we got tired of watching the Little Rascals all morning.

Where are all those peaches trees now?

I wonder….

And are all those dead little turtles still buried under that big apple tree?

And what if those goldfish we flushed down the toilet were really only resting, and not dead at all.

And were we really saving our mother’s backs by avoiding the all those cracks; the ones that spread all over the sidewalks, back then?

And, if so, did it cross our minds the spinal havoc we could have potentially brought upon all those poor ladies by recklessly playing hop scotch on all those other days when we weren’t busy spitting out watermelon seeds or sending our turtles to their final resting places?

I wonder….

Also, most of us were trying desperately hard not to break any mirrors back then, as well.

Who needed those 7 years of bad luck?

I was already having enough trouble picking the good cards on Candy Land as it was. I didn’t need 7 more years of being perpetually stuck in the Molasses Swamp.

And then there was the matter of opening umbrellas indoors…you know by mistake or something.

So you were never sure if one of them was going to pop open by accident…and now you’re stuck in the Molasses Swamp until who knows.

Yeah….

Walking under ladders was bad luck too…especially if your dad was up there cleaning the gutters right after hot dogs and beans for lunch.

Just sayin….

And forget about sneezing. There were so many perils associated with sneezing; it’s no wonder I was constantly pulling my groin muscle trying to hold them in. Either that or bathe in holy water all week.

Sneeze on Monday, sneeze for danger

Sneeze on a Tuesday, kiss a stranger

;
Sneeze on a Wednesday, sneeze for a letter

Sneeze on a Thursday, something better

Sneeze on Friday for sorrow

Sneeze on Saturday, see your sweetheart tomorrow

Sneeze on a Sunday, your safety seek. The devil will have you the whole of the week.

And who needs that?

So it’s no wonder—I wonder—why we spent so much time, back then looking for 4 leaf clovers...just to ward of all this potential bad luck that was waiting to swallow us whole.

Of course, should the clover fail, you could always cross your fingers…which, oddly enough, also allowed you to get away with telling fibs.

No lie….

Or you could hang a horseshoe over your door…but only open side up….I think…or is it down.

I wonder…

Also, if you had some wood handy you could knock on that.

Pigeons pooping on your head is also considered good luck, as well as rain on your wedding day.

But I’m thinking that might just be more about people trying to make you feel better about a bad situation.

Like if you get run over by a bus, someone might say,“You know, getting run over by a bus is supposed to be good luck.”

And then I suppose you’d feel better about the odd angle your leg is in.

Especially if you had your apple that day, which should in theory keep the doctor away.

I wonder.

Yes, I wonder.

And even more…I wonder why I wonder….

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