Hi, Diary. We took a long trip in the Oldsmobile to Wautoma, Wisconsin, on Saturday. Dad said one of his patients had told him that renting a cottage on Silver Lake was “very reasonable.”
He also told Dad the lake held plenty of pan fish we kids could catch, using worms. There also were walleyes, northern pike, and largemouth bass Dad might catch, casting with fishing plugs.
Upon awakening on Thursday morning, Dad filled a glass with water in order to help him swallow aspirin while Mother poured him a cup of coffee. He sat at the kitchen table without saying a word.
Finished with the coffee, he rose, made his way to the parlor and sat on the fuzzy blue sofa. “Everyone,” Dad called out, “I want you to come here. I have something important to say.
So, we all reported in front of Dad. I was wondering what dreadful thing happened. Or was going to happen. You have to expect the worse if you live in this house.
Dad made his announcement. “We’re going to take a trip this Saturday to Wautoma.”
“Wautoma, what’s that?” asked Crazy Annie.
“It’s a town,” I said.
“You don’t know diddly,” observed Dork.
“Do too.”
“Do not.”
“That’s enough out of you two,” Dad warned.
That stopped Dork and me from saying another word. Neither of us wanted to get slugged.
“We’re going to Wautoma because we’re going to visit a lake. It’s called Silver Lake. We might rent a cottage there for two weeks next summer.”
“Yaaaay,” we kids shouted.
“But first,” Dad warned, “I want to see if what I was told about the lake is true. If it is, and if it’s okay with your Mother, we’ll rent a cottage for two weeks. We deserve a vacation.”
“Yaaaay.”
At that moment, and I can’t tell you why, I turned to Mother. She seemed as surprised as the rest of us.
“Do you intend to rent a cottage on the lake, not a mile away from it?” asked Doc III, my oldest brother. We have to call him James because Dad’s name is Jim. Can’t have two Jims in the house, can we?
“Of course,” replied Dad, “it’ll have to be overlooking the lake.”
“Yaaay.”
Wow. Just think, Diary. Two whole weeks in a lake cottage. I could hardly wait to see Silver Lake.
After Dad left for his office that morning, I was going to go outside and as I made my way from my bedroom to the dining room to the kitchen, I heard Mother tell Dork, “He must’ve heard about that lake from a drunk at the Elks Club or one of the taverns he goes to.”
When I entered the kitchen, Mother and Dork quickly changed the subject to what a nice day it was.
Finally, Saturday arrived. Wautoma is forty miles away. Before we even got to Plainfield about halfway to Wautoma, Dad already had stopped at two taverns. The first one he stopped at was to buy cigarettes. At least, that’s what he said. He took a long time to buy them. He also bought Clove gum, which he was chewing awfully fast. I figured he had a few drinks back there.
Next, he stopped at the second tavern because Dad said he had to use the bathroom. Once again, we had to wait in the car a long time. Of course, the time gave Dork and me plenty of time to argue and fight. Mother kept yelling at us.
Eventually, Dad came out, chewing on Clove gum. More drinking, I thought. He finally stopped the car at a root beer stand on the other side of Plainfield. “Time for food,” he said.
It wasn’t an A&W because it was yellow. It kind of looked like an A&W root beer stand, though. Doc III, Dork, and I got out of the car and rushed to the Men’s Room door, which Doc III tried to open.
No way. It was locked. Somebody must’ve been inside. Eventually, the door opened, and an old wrinkly-skinned man in bib overalls and a stained blue work shirt stepped out. Smiling, he said, “Next.”
I had to pee like a race horse. Of course, Doc III and Dork were ahead of me. I didn’t know if I could hold it that long.
In went Doc III.
Out came Doc III. “I don’t have to go anymore,” he said.
Dork also changed his mind about using the bathroom. He turned to me and said, “You can go.” I didn’t care for his nasty grin but I had to go badly.
After I stepped into that small room, I darned near upchucked. The stink was so bad it made me sick to my stomach. But I had to pee. So, I pinched my nose with thumb and finger and breathed through my mouth. I could hear my older brothers laugh. I didn’t think it was so funny.
And get this, the next boy to enter the bathroom after me was my age. He screamed real loud and ran out of that bathroom, rushed to his parents, pinched his nose, and pointed at me. “It’s terrible in there, and he stunk it up.”
“I didn’t do that,” I yelled at him and his parents.
“He did, too,” said Doc III.
“Yeah, he’s the culprit,” said Dork. He and Doc III laughed some more.
“I’m gonna wait until we get to Wautoma,” said Doc III.
“Me, too,” agreed Dork.
“Only a dipshit could stand that stink,” said Doc III, of course, for my benefit. He thinks he’s smart because he’s old enough and can cuss without getting into big trouble.
“I’m no dipshit,” I said.
“Who’s not a dipshit?” warned Doc III as he threatened me with a knuckle sandwich.
I didn’t answer. Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman is no fool.
I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t even drink my root beer. After the rest of the family finished with their Coney Dogs or hamburgers or cheeseburgers and French fries and root beers, Dad headed the Oldsmobile, once again on Highway 73.
There were plenty of curves and hills on that part of the road. Mother said, “This road must’ve been designed by an engineer who followed a drunken Indian.”
I thought what she said was kind of funny. So, I laughed. The way Dad turned and looked at me told me he saw things differently. I didn’t laugh anymore.
Finally, a sign warned us that we were entering Wautoma. All of us looked around.
“There’s no lake here,” said Crazy Annie. “Wautoma doesn’t have a lake. Your patient lied to you,” she told Dad.
Only Crazy Annie could get away with saying that. I would’ve been cuffed into oblivion.
“Where’s the lake?” asked Mother. She then turned to Dork. He shrugged and shook his head. They just knew there was no lake there. Some drunk had lied to Dad.
Dad stopped the car at a Standard gas station to get some gas. Also, Doc III, Dork, and Crazy Annie could use the bathrooms.
The Oldsmobile rode over a rubber hose which made a bell ring in the station. Out came the attendant, wearing a dark blue Standard gas station hat with shiny black bill. He went right to the driver’s side window.
“Yeah?” said the young man, maybe about Doc III’s age.
“Fill ‘er up,” said Dad.
That’s when Doc III and Dork got out of the back of the car. I didn’t have to go. Sitting in the front, Mother and Crazy Annie got out. Mother held Crazy Annie’s hand because Crazy Annie was afraid to go into the woman’s bathroom alone. Such a Scaredy Cat. I’ll have to change her name.
“Regular or ethyl?” The attendant had pimples all over his face. Even on his forehead.
“Ethyl.”
After he filled the car’s tank, the attendant dunked a dried corn cob in a bucket of water, took it out, shook off the excess water, and slid that corncob back and forth over the glass of our bug-filled windshield. And, by golly, those bugs disappeared. Just like that. It was a miracle. Then, he dried the glass with a white rag. By that time, everyone was back in the car.
“I’ve never seen a windshield cleaned that way before,” Dad told the attendant, “but, by God, you did a hell of a good job.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Jim, watch your language in front of the kids,” warned Mother.
I nearly laughed out loud. Naturally, I didn’t. As I said, I’m no fool. The word “Hell” is nothing compared to the cuss words those two shout at each other after Dad comes home at night, drunk again.
“Want me to check the oil?” asked Pimples.
“Yes. By the way, how far is Silver Lake from here?”
“It’s on the other side of town. Keep going south on Seventy-three.”
“There is a lake here,” I whispered to Dork.
“Who said there wasn’t?” he asked aloud.
I recalled the look Mother gave him just a short while ago and the look Dork gave her, letting each other know there was no lake. I decided not to argue.
“Nobody,” I lied.
He also told Dad the lake held plenty of pan fish we kids could catch, using worms. There also were walleyes, northern pike, and largemouth bass Dad might catch, casting with fishing plugs.
Upon awakening on Thursday morning, Dad filled a glass with water in order to help him swallow aspirin while Mother poured him a cup of coffee. He sat at the kitchen table without saying a word.
Finished with the coffee, he rose, made his way to the parlor and sat on the fuzzy blue sofa. “Everyone,” Dad called out, “I want you to come here. I have something important to say.
So, we all reported in front of Dad. I was wondering what dreadful thing happened. Or was going to happen. You have to expect the worse if you live in this house.
Dad made his announcement. “We’re going to take a trip this Saturday to Wautoma.”
“Wautoma, what’s that?” asked Crazy Annie.
“It’s a town,” I said.
“You don’t know diddly,” observed Dork.
“Do too.”
“Do not.”
“That’s enough out of you two,” Dad warned.
That stopped Dork and me from saying another word. Neither of us wanted to get slugged.
“We’re going to Wautoma because we’re going to visit a lake. It’s called Silver Lake. We might rent a cottage there for two weeks next summer.”
“Yaaaay,” we kids shouted.
“But first,” Dad warned, “I want to see if what I was told about the lake is true. If it is, and if it’s okay with your Mother, we’ll rent a cottage for two weeks. We deserve a vacation.”
“Yaaaay.”
At that moment, and I can’t tell you why, I turned to Mother. She seemed as surprised as the rest of us.
“Do you intend to rent a cottage on the lake, not a mile away from it?” asked Doc III, my oldest brother. We have to call him James because Dad’s name is Jim. Can’t have two Jims in the house, can we?
“Of course,” replied Dad, “it’ll have to be overlooking the lake.”
“Yaaay.”
Wow. Just think, Diary. Two whole weeks in a lake cottage. I could hardly wait to see Silver Lake.
After Dad left for his office that morning, I was going to go outside and as I made my way from my bedroom to the dining room to the kitchen, I heard Mother tell Dork, “He must’ve heard about that lake from a drunk at the Elks Club or one of the taverns he goes to.”
When I entered the kitchen, Mother and Dork quickly changed the subject to what a nice day it was.
Finally, Saturday arrived. Wautoma is forty miles away. Before we even got to Plainfield about halfway to Wautoma, Dad already had stopped at two taverns. The first one he stopped at was to buy cigarettes. At least, that’s what he said. He took a long time to buy them. He also bought Clove gum, which he was chewing awfully fast. I figured he had a few drinks back there.
Next, he stopped at the second tavern because Dad said he had to use the bathroom. Once again, we had to wait in the car a long time. Of course, the time gave Dork and me plenty of time to argue and fight. Mother kept yelling at us.
Eventually, Dad came out, chewing on Clove gum. More drinking, I thought. He finally stopped the car at a root beer stand on the other side of Plainfield. “Time for food,” he said.
It wasn’t an A&W because it was yellow. It kind of looked like an A&W root beer stand, though. Doc III, Dork, and I got out of the car and rushed to the Men’s Room door, which Doc III tried to open.
No way. It was locked. Somebody must’ve been inside. Eventually, the door opened, and an old wrinkly-skinned man in bib overalls and a stained blue work shirt stepped out. Smiling, he said, “Next.”
I had to pee like a race horse. Of course, Doc III and Dork were ahead of me. I didn’t know if I could hold it that long.
In went Doc III.
Out came Doc III. “I don’t have to go anymore,” he said.
Dork also changed his mind about using the bathroom. He turned to me and said, “You can go.” I didn’t care for his nasty grin but I had to go badly.
After I stepped into that small room, I darned near upchucked. The stink was so bad it made me sick to my stomach. But I had to pee. So, I pinched my nose with thumb and finger and breathed through my mouth. I could hear my older brothers laugh. I didn’t think it was so funny.
And get this, the next boy to enter the bathroom after me was my age. He screamed real loud and ran out of that bathroom, rushed to his parents, pinched his nose, and pointed at me. “It’s terrible in there, and he stunk it up.”
“I didn’t do that,” I yelled at him and his parents.
“He did, too,” said Doc III.
“Yeah, he’s the culprit,” said Dork. He and Doc III laughed some more.
“I’m gonna wait until we get to Wautoma,” said Doc III.
“Me, too,” agreed Dork.
“Only a dipshit could stand that stink,” said Doc III, of course, for my benefit. He thinks he’s smart because he’s old enough and can cuss without getting into big trouble.
“I’m no dipshit,” I said.
“Who’s not a dipshit?” warned Doc III as he threatened me with a knuckle sandwich.
I didn’t answer. Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman is no fool.
I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t even drink my root beer. After the rest of the family finished with their Coney Dogs or hamburgers or cheeseburgers and French fries and root beers, Dad headed the Oldsmobile, once again on Highway 73.
There were plenty of curves and hills on that part of the road. Mother said, “This road must’ve been designed by an engineer who followed a drunken Indian.”
I thought what she said was kind of funny. So, I laughed. The way Dad turned and looked at me told me he saw things differently. I didn’t laugh anymore.
Finally, a sign warned us that we were entering Wautoma. All of us looked around.
“There’s no lake here,” said Crazy Annie. “Wautoma doesn’t have a lake. Your patient lied to you,” she told Dad.
Only Crazy Annie could get away with saying that. I would’ve been cuffed into oblivion.
“Where’s the lake?” asked Mother. She then turned to Dork. He shrugged and shook his head. They just knew there was no lake there. Some drunk had lied to Dad.
Dad stopped the car at a Standard gas station to get some gas. Also, Doc III, Dork, and Crazy Annie could use the bathrooms.
The Oldsmobile rode over a rubber hose which made a bell ring in the station. Out came the attendant, wearing a dark blue Standard gas station hat with shiny black bill. He went right to the driver’s side window.
“Yeah?” said the young man, maybe about Doc III’s age.
“Fill ‘er up,” said Dad.
That’s when Doc III and Dork got out of the back of the car. I didn’t have to go. Sitting in the front, Mother and Crazy Annie got out. Mother held Crazy Annie’s hand because Crazy Annie was afraid to go into the woman’s bathroom alone. Such a Scaredy Cat. I’ll have to change her name.
“Regular or ethyl?” The attendant had pimples all over his face. Even on his forehead.
“Ethyl.”
After he filled the car’s tank, the attendant dunked a dried corn cob in a bucket of water, took it out, shook off the excess water, and slid that corncob back and forth over the glass of our bug-filled windshield. And, by golly, those bugs disappeared. Just like that. It was a miracle. Then, he dried the glass with a white rag. By that time, everyone was back in the car.
“I’ve never seen a windshield cleaned that way before,” Dad told the attendant, “but, by God, you did a hell of a good job.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Jim, watch your language in front of the kids,” warned Mother.
I nearly laughed out loud. Naturally, I didn’t. As I said, I’m no fool. The word “Hell” is nothing compared to the cuss words those two shout at each other after Dad comes home at night, drunk again.
“Want me to check the oil?” asked Pimples.
“Yes. By the way, how far is Silver Lake from here?”
“It’s on the other side of town. Keep going south on Seventy-three.”
“There is a lake here,” I whispered to Dork.
“Who said there wasn’t?” he asked aloud.
I recalled the look Mother gave him just a short while ago and the look Dork gave her, letting each other know there was no lake. I decided not to argue.
“Nobody,” I lied.
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