Well, Diary, here I am, Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman. Nineteen suppers have come and gone since I last wrote in you. Which means a few days shy of three weeks. You can't remember because you're a diary. So, let me update you. The last time I said goodbye to you was because Mother was calling me for supper. And I didn't want to be late for that.
Well, let’s see, where was I? The Hoffman family was on vacation, riding in our Oldsmobile, which was packed to the gills. With Crazy Annie and Mother as front seat riders, Dad, the driver, made certain my oldest brother, James, better known as Doc III, sat in the middle so Dork and I wouldn't fight all the time. Doc III was upset because he didn't get to sit next to a window and kept punching me, calling me "Dumb Ass."
I'll have to admit. Sometimes, I cried. Real loud. One time, Dad pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car, got out, opened the rear door and asked, "Gordy, do you want to walk to Yellowstone?"
"No," I told him. Of course, I didn't want to walk to Yellowstone National Park. Wyoming was a long way off. Besides, a kid my age wouldn't know how to get there, would he?
"Well, then," he said, "you'd better stop sniveling."
"But James keeps hitting me and calling me Dumb Ass."
"Is that true?" Dad asked Doc III.
"No," lied my oldest brother.
"I didn't think so, but if I see you hitting Gordy even once, you're going to walk to Yellowstone, you hear? And I'm not fooling. Understand?"
"Yes."
Dad got back into the car.
"Dumb Ass," Doc III whispered.
"You're the dumb ass," I whispered back.
Doc III made sure Dad wasn't looking in the rearview mirror before Doc III really slammed a fist into my shoulder.
Dork started to laugh.
"What's so funny," asked Dad.
"Nothing," said Dork.
“Yeah, nothing," I said.
My shoulder hurt like the dickens but this time I didn't cry. Instead, I said, "If you hit me once more, I'll tell Dad."
So, he stopped hitting me, and I stopped crying.
Although Dad told us were we going to "see the sights" on our trip, I gotta tell you, Diary, most of the sights we saw were farms, farms, and more farms and every once in a while, we slowed down and drove through a town. Which was okay because that was usually about the time Dad stopped at a gas station and ran over the rubber hose that caused a bell to ring inside the gas station.
The attendant, usually a young man, but not always, came out and asked Dad how much gas we wanted. After Dad told him, the attendant washed the windshield, checked the oil, put air in the tires, and put the amount of Ethyl gasoline Dad wanted. Because that's the kind of gas the Olds used. Ethyl. Why a gasoline is named after a woman, I'll never know. Each time we stopped to gas up, everyone in the car was able to stretch and go to the bathroom. Some of those bathrooms were so stinky, I couldn’t stand them. Let me tell you, when we got into a town, I usually had to pee like a raped ape. That's what my classmate, Lee Anunson, says every time he has to pee: "I gotta go like a raped ape." I kind of giggled each time he said that. So, I stole his line. Of course, I don't say that in front of my parents. They wouldn't think it was so funny, would they?
Eventually, the scenery changed in South Dakota. As we reached the Black Hills, we no longer passed by farms. Instead, we passed by ranch after ranch after ranch. We saw lots of horses and beef cattle. In no time at all, huge red and black and yellow signs appeared alongside the highway every couple of miles. They read about the same thing: "Visit Black Hills Reptile Garden. Baby live alligators for sale."
"What's a reptile garden?" I called out to Mother and Dad.
Mother looked back. "Whatever it is, I don't want to know."
"I do," said Dork.
"I do," said Doc III. “Just think, live baby alligators. I'm going to buy one."
"No, you won't," said Mother.
"I want to go, too," I said, adding the usual, "pretty please?"
"We'll see," said Dad.
"I don't want to go," cried Crazy Annie.
As we drove up a steep hill, a huge sign read, "Next right to Black Hills Reptile Gardens. Baby alligators for sale."
Let me tell you, Diary, I kind of didn't like the Reptile Gardens because of all the rattlesnakes they had. The only good rattlesnake is a dead rattlesnake as far as I'm concerned. And get this, there was an old guy inside the pit where all those snakes were slithering and rattling. I figured he was crazy. He even "milked" a rattlesnake right in front of us. Yuck. Poison spurted out the hollow fangs into a little glass bottle with stretched wax paper held tight by a rubber band. The old guy explained the fangs are hollow so poison can flow through.
Kind of scared, I looked away at a nearby tree, and that's when I became really, really, really scared. There was a big, long snake lying on one of its lower branches. I hit Dad on his side. "What's the matter?" he asked.
I pointed to the snake.
"Jesus Christ," said Dad before he yelled at the man "milking" the snake. "Hey, do you know there's a snake in that tree?"
"Sure, that's Sammy. He won't hurt you. He's a pine snake."
"Sammy, indeed. Let's get out of here," said Dad, "We'll go to the store and then be on our way," he told Mother.
“Thankfully,” she answered.
"Yeah," said Doc III. "I'm going to buy an alligator."
"Over my dead body," said Mother.
The Reptile Garden's store had all kinds of things for sale. What Dad and Mother liked best was a box of minerals, each one glued to a stiff piece of white cardboard, and a word or words beneath them, identifying what mineral each was. They bought it.
"Wow, is that gold?" I pointed.
"No, it's Pyrite," said Mother, "which most people call Fool's Gold."
"As far as I’m concerned, Fool's Gold is pretty neat."
Doc III joined us. He didn’t look very happy. "Baby alligators are twenty five dollars each."
Of course, he didn't have twenty five bucks.
After we left the snake place, Dad had us look for "Vacancy" signs on groups of cabins alongside the highway. Whoever first spotted a vacancy sign got a nickel.
We stayed that night in a cabin that was close by a field that had cows in it. I stood by the fence and sure enough a cow came up to me. I scratched its wet nose. It went, "mooooooo." Although frightened, I'd never admit it. The cow was pretty strong. When I got back to the cabin, I told Doc III and Dork about it.
"Big deal," said Doc III. "That's what cows do, dumb ass. They moo."
Well, let’s see, where was I? The Hoffman family was on vacation, riding in our Oldsmobile, which was packed to the gills. With Crazy Annie and Mother as front seat riders, Dad, the driver, made certain my oldest brother, James, better known as Doc III, sat in the middle so Dork and I wouldn't fight all the time. Doc III was upset because he didn't get to sit next to a window and kept punching me, calling me "Dumb Ass."
I'll have to admit. Sometimes, I cried. Real loud. One time, Dad pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car, got out, opened the rear door and asked, "Gordy, do you want to walk to Yellowstone?"
"No," I told him. Of course, I didn't want to walk to Yellowstone National Park. Wyoming was a long way off. Besides, a kid my age wouldn't know how to get there, would he?
"Well, then," he said, "you'd better stop sniveling."
"But James keeps hitting me and calling me Dumb Ass."
"Is that true?" Dad asked Doc III.
"No," lied my oldest brother.
"I didn't think so, but if I see you hitting Gordy even once, you're going to walk to Yellowstone, you hear? And I'm not fooling. Understand?"
"Yes."
Dad got back into the car.
"Dumb Ass," Doc III whispered.
"You're the dumb ass," I whispered back.
Doc III made sure Dad wasn't looking in the rearview mirror before Doc III really slammed a fist into my shoulder.
Dork started to laugh.
"What's so funny," asked Dad.
"Nothing," said Dork.
“Yeah, nothing," I said.
My shoulder hurt like the dickens but this time I didn't cry. Instead, I said, "If you hit me once more, I'll tell Dad."
So, he stopped hitting me, and I stopped crying.
Although Dad told us were we going to "see the sights" on our trip, I gotta tell you, Diary, most of the sights we saw were farms, farms, and more farms and every once in a while, we slowed down and drove through a town. Which was okay because that was usually about the time Dad stopped at a gas station and ran over the rubber hose that caused a bell to ring inside the gas station.
The attendant, usually a young man, but not always, came out and asked Dad how much gas we wanted. After Dad told him, the attendant washed the windshield, checked the oil, put air in the tires, and put the amount of Ethyl gasoline Dad wanted. Because that's the kind of gas the Olds used. Ethyl. Why a gasoline is named after a woman, I'll never know. Each time we stopped to gas up, everyone in the car was able to stretch and go to the bathroom. Some of those bathrooms were so stinky, I couldn’t stand them. Let me tell you, when we got into a town, I usually had to pee like a raped ape. That's what my classmate, Lee Anunson, says every time he has to pee: "I gotta go like a raped ape." I kind of giggled each time he said that. So, I stole his line. Of course, I don't say that in front of my parents. They wouldn't think it was so funny, would they?
Eventually, the scenery changed in South Dakota. As we reached the Black Hills, we no longer passed by farms. Instead, we passed by ranch after ranch after ranch. We saw lots of horses and beef cattle. In no time at all, huge red and black and yellow signs appeared alongside the highway every couple of miles. They read about the same thing: "Visit Black Hills Reptile Garden. Baby live alligators for sale."
"What's a reptile garden?" I called out to Mother and Dad.
Mother looked back. "Whatever it is, I don't want to know."
"I do," said Dork.
"I do," said Doc III. “Just think, live baby alligators. I'm going to buy one."
"No, you won't," said Mother.
"I want to go, too," I said, adding the usual, "pretty please?"
"We'll see," said Dad.
"I don't want to go," cried Crazy Annie.
As we drove up a steep hill, a huge sign read, "Next right to Black Hills Reptile Gardens. Baby alligators for sale."
Let me tell you, Diary, I kind of didn't like the Reptile Gardens because of all the rattlesnakes they had. The only good rattlesnake is a dead rattlesnake as far as I'm concerned. And get this, there was an old guy inside the pit where all those snakes were slithering and rattling. I figured he was crazy. He even "milked" a rattlesnake right in front of us. Yuck. Poison spurted out the hollow fangs into a little glass bottle with stretched wax paper held tight by a rubber band. The old guy explained the fangs are hollow so poison can flow through.
Kind of scared, I looked away at a nearby tree, and that's when I became really, really, really scared. There was a big, long snake lying on one of its lower branches. I hit Dad on his side. "What's the matter?" he asked.
I pointed to the snake.
"Jesus Christ," said Dad before he yelled at the man "milking" the snake. "Hey, do you know there's a snake in that tree?"
"Sure, that's Sammy. He won't hurt you. He's a pine snake."
"Sammy, indeed. Let's get out of here," said Dad, "We'll go to the store and then be on our way," he told Mother.
“Thankfully,” she answered.
"Yeah," said Doc III. "I'm going to buy an alligator."
"Over my dead body," said Mother.
The Reptile Garden's store had all kinds of things for sale. What Dad and Mother liked best was a box of minerals, each one glued to a stiff piece of white cardboard, and a word or words beneath them, identifying what mineral each was. They bought it.
"Wow, is that gold?" I pointed.
"No, it's Pyrite," said Mother, "which most people call Fool's Gold."
"As far as I’m concerned, Fool's Gold is pretty neat."
Doc III joined us. He didn’t look very happy. "Baby alligators are twenty five dollars each."
Of course, he didn't have twenty five bucks.
After we left the snake place, Dad had us look for "Vacancy" signs on groups of cabins alongside the highway. Whoever first spotted a vacancy sign got a nickel.
We stayed that night in a cabin that was close by a field that had cows in it. I stood by the fence and sure enough a cow came up to me. I scratched its wet nose. It went, "mooooooo." Although frightened, I'd never admit it. The cow was pretty strong. When I got back to the cabin, I told Doc III and Dork about it.
"Big deal," said Doc III. "That's what cows do, dumb ass. They moo."
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