Who let the frogs out?

In the movie Fools Rush In, Isabella's male cousins take Alex out to show him a good time. They bring him home with a second-degree sunburn and a butt full of cactus needles.  When my mom and dad got engaged, her male cousins took him bull frogging. They needed someone to hold the gunnysack, so Mom was invited to go along. She was 16 or 17.

At sundown everyone showed up at my grandparent's house in their grubbiest clothes and shoes. They drove to the creek with Mom sitting on the hard bench seat of Dad's old Chevy pickup. Three cousins, armed with flashlights and dip nets, rode in back perched on the fender wells or sitting with legs dangling off the tailgate. At the bridge, Dad parked off the road, and they all jumped out.

Mom didn't trust any of them when it came down to who was going to hold two strands of the barbed wire fence apart so she could crawl through to the pasture. Either she was going to snag her clothes or one of those boys was going to pinch her butt, even if they were her cousins. Instead, she climbed over the fence at a post. The boys showed off by scissor high jumping over it.

Mom was instructed to be quiet, stay out of their way, and open the neck of the burlap gunnysack when they brought the frogs.  

The wildlife at the creek had stilled when they drove up. After a few minutes, crickets resumed their chirping, cliff swallows under the bridge settled back into their nests, and the bullfrogs began to bellow. They visited quietly while waiting for it to get dark.

The fellows stealthily approached the creek and slid down the steep bank. It had been a dry summer, and the water was less than a foot deep. At a whispered signal they clicked on their flashlights.  Sweeping the surface of the water with the beams, they soon detected glowing eyes.

Dip nets captured one mesmerized frog after another. The guys toed their way back up the crumbling bank of the creek and hurried to where Mom waited with the gunnysack.

"Let's see what we caught."

They directed the lights to the contents of the nets. Mom held the sack open, and three frogs were deposited inside.

"Where's Bobby?" she asked.

They hurried back to the creek. "What are you doing down there? I thought you caught a frog."

"I did, but I can't get back up this bank," he whispered. "Somebody give me a hand."

"Why didn't you say you needed help?"

"You guys told me to be quiet."

"Hey, Laverne, why'd you bring this kid along?"

"Mom made me."

His catch was added to the sack. "Now we're making bag. Look at the size of these grand-daddies. Don't let 'em get away, Eleanor."

"Let's try further down the stream. Sit tight. We'll be right back." 

Back to the water they went.

She could hear them whispering and splashing in the water. She sat cross-legged on the springy pasture grass and held the burlap bag as the moon rose. Frogs crawled around inside seeking escape.

Their whispers carried on the water. "Dang it. Hold the light steady. That one got away. I think we've scared them off."

Lights bobbled up and down as Jack and her cousins returned. "Open the sack, Cuz. We caught three more."

She pulled the mouth of the sack open and four frogs erupted in their faces.

"Damn! You're letting them get away. Watch these nets."

The foursome dove for the athletics amphibians. Two were apprehended. They stomped back to her, stuffed the slippery frogs through a tiny opening and did the same for the ones in the nets.

Thoroughly disgruntled, they returned to the farm. Since Mom hadn't gotten wet and muddy, she drove while all the guys rode in back. They stayed in the driveway where they shucked out of wet clothes and pulled on the dry ones they had brought with them while Mom went in the house.

My grandparents asked Mom if she had fun.

"I guess not," she said morosely. "They're all mad at me. I let some of the frogs they caught jump out of the bag."

The boys came in and straddled straight chairs in the kitchen. Grandma fed them a snack. They collected the catch and butchered the frog legs, keeping up a steady stream of complaints about the two that got away. The third time my future father mentioned that holding the gunnysack was Eleanor's only job, my granddad said they ought to go home if they couldn't do anything but bellyache.

The next morning Grandma found a pair of men's underwear lying in the driveway. She took them in the house and washed them with the family laundry because she knew who they belonged to.

The next time my father came to the house for a date, Grandma said she had something for him. She was holding the surprise behind her back. He held his hand out. She tried to give him the briefs.

He jerked his hand back like a snake had struck at it. "Those aren't mine," he claimed.

"Oh yes, they are," Grandma told him with a grin. "Your mother's laundry mark is right here on the waistband."

During my childhood, the story of how the engagement nearly ended before it began because of the bullfrog debacle was repeated over and over by my dad. The tale of him losing his underwear was told nearly as often by my Grandma. I was a little older before I figured out why everyone made such a big deal over it.

I Spy

In May 1981, the entire family gathered for my grandfather's funeral. My uncle and his family drove in from Colorado. My brother flew in from Texas. My Colorado cousins are much younger than my brother and me. Although they had already sat in the car for eight hours the day before, two of them thought it would be fun to ride to Wichita to get my brother at the airport. Mom drove. They were getting restless on the return trip and we decided to play I Spy.

There are a couple of variations on the game. We always started each round saying: "I spy something..."  Another is: "I looked around and guess what I found? I found something..."  My grandkids say: "I spied with my little eye, something..."

It doesn't matter how you say it. The idea is to give a helpful clue, but not too obvious, while also making it simple enough for small children to play. It didn't take too much time for us to go around the players twice spying something green (summer flip-flops) or black (the car dash), or pink (a blouse).

It was Mom's turn again and she spied something silver. Everyone guessed. She had stumped us and had to give another clue. It was something silver and round. We guessed the radio knobs on the dash, the knob on the window winder, the push button on the glove box. We couldn't see anything else silver and round. According to the rules she had let us ask for a hint. My brother asked if it was something outside the car that we had passed five miles back. Nope. I asked if it was inside the car. Yes.

The little girls had tired of the game, but my brother and I were determined to spy the round silver object. We looked harder inside the car. My brother asked how big it was. About an inch. We couldn't find anything that hadn't already been guessed that fit the description. I asked if someone was wearing it. No.

I was sitting in the middle of the back seat. That's my spot. Rule Seventeen: the person with the shortest legs straddles the hump. My cousins were technically a little shorter, but they had elected to rest their arms on the armrest. That's what it was there for.

My brother, in the front seat, looked back with his face all screwed up, trying to think of another question. Finally, he asked what supported it. That was a pretty sneaky question.

Mom thought a minute and said she guessed it was the government. Huh?

I asked if she was talking about money?  A Quarter?

Finally, someone guessed the correct answer.

My brother is looking around on the floor boards, in the cup holder, on the dash, trying to see a stray quarter. He asked where it was. It was in her purse. Naturally.

Hey, Mom. The whole point of I Spy is that the players can see the object.

Rule Twenty-four: Never assume Mom won't change the rules in the middle of the game just to drive you crazy.