It's the circle of life, Simba. It's the circle of life.
Unlike the generations before mine... I never did get to move to the main house. My mother remarried and we moved to a new area community. With no one else willing to move into it, the little house was relegated to farm storage. It became the farm catchall for seed corn, soybeans, chemicals, a pot bellied pig for a time, spray paint, small yard implements, etc. It also became... our Holiday Flop House.
The upper rooms still had random bits of my life in them. Parts of toys, old dressers, crayons, and odd memorabilia from my bio-dad's war days. Regardless of the intended new purpose... it officially became a club house for my cousins, my siblings, and I. During the holiday gatherings, we would sneak off to the little house and gather in the upstairs bedrooms. We would sometimes smoke cigarettes, usually gossip, and always graffiti the hell out of the walls.
There were times when we were more artistic. We embraced our inner poets and shared prose with each other. My favorite goes something like this... <clears throat>
Scag scag you bloody rag
You filthy, slimy, slut
Between your thighs
Green fungus lies
And maggots crawl
Out of your butt
I am not sure how the next bit goes, but I do recall it ended with "die of the drizzling shits". I learned this poem on the school bus from an older kid named Mike Blum. He was always in the front of the bus where he could be monitored by the bus driver... probably for this very reason.
Our little flop house was also the place where we first learned the dangers of "huffing". It's not that we were trying to get high, we weren't. We were trying to express ourselves! You see, farm tractors occasionally need to be repainted. Maybe there is a scratch somewhere. If you don't clean it and repaint quickly you will get rust. It was for that reason that my grandpa and uncle kept cans of John Deere green spray paint in our little home away from home. When we discovered the joy of graffiti with paint as opposed to crayons we were hooked.
We painted joyously for over an hour. At least 4 of us in a 12x12 room, "emoting" to our hearts content. When we decided to rejoin the family, our grandfather met us at the door. "Have you been in the spray paint?" he asked. Obviously we lied. That's what you do. He wasn't wearing a look that said, "FANTASTIC~ YOU FOUND THE SPRAY PAINT! LET'S CELEBRATE THIS MOMENT MY LITTLE MICHAEL ANGELOS! ".
Immediately we knew someone had seen us, narced on us, probably my little sister. STOOL PIGEON! RAT FINK! IT HAD TO BE HER!!! Orrrrrr maybe it was the rings of John Deere green inhaled paint surrounding our noses. You would have thought we looked at each other at least once on the walk home... but we were probably too high to notice.