Humor

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On Thursday, the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage sent Yours Truly to the store to get some things for supper. Normally, she would not chance such a dangerous thing, but in the middle of cooking, she ran out of an ingredient she needed for supper and I was elected.

It's not that I object to the doctrine of election, I just wish I had a vote in it, and that my vote counted.

As a dutiful husband, I embarked on my mission. I had the list in hand and cash in my pocket, along with a stern warning of what not to come home with if I knew what was good for me.

I do know what is good for me but, as luck would have it, I don't always do exactly what is good for me.

Everything went fine until I turned the corner and ran right into a counter with fresh strawberries. When I saw them, I was immediately reminded of a little incident in my childhood concerning strawberries.

As a young boy, our family lived next door to a strange neighbor, to say the least. This neighbor had many peculiarities; he hated small children, dogs and laughter in general. I suppose he had good reasons for this attitude, but as a country boy, I did not pay much attention to him. Too many wonderful exploits engaged my attention.

One thing I soon learned about our neighbor: he hated the lowly dandelion. I watched him energetically dig all the dandelions from his yard. He was meticulous in his yard work and sported the loveliest back yard in the neighborhood.

My father, on the other hand, was meticulous-challenged when it came to our back yard. As long as the grass did not grow above the heads of his children, he was happy.

This lackadaisical attitude did not lack abhorrence from our friendly-challenged next-door neighbor.

Another thing causing us to fall out of favor (as though we were really ever in his favor) with this neighbor was the fact that our back yard was a breeding ground for many things, not least was a healthy crop of dandelions.

For me, the most wonderful thing about those wild dandelions was the brilliant yellow color when in full bloom. What a sight to look out our window and see the back yard glowing in marvelous shades of yellow. It took our breath away, which was a good thing because the air was usually blue, compliments of our nefarious neighbor.

I could never understand why he was so adamant about those dandelions. A few days following the brilliant yellow, the flowers would turn white. It resembled a blanket of snow, which was too much for my young heart to endure.

Out the door I would go and dance in that snowy blanket of dandelions. How was I to know I was sending dandelion seeds throughout the neighborhood?

I should not say "throughout the neighborhood." For some odd reason most, if not all, of the dandelion seeds merrily danced into our neighbor's yard. Call it coincidence, call it fate, call an ambulance, but within a few days, his yard would be filled with baby dandelions.

The dandelion is the plant world equivalent of a pair of rabbits. As much as he hated dandelions, his backyard could produce some quality dandelions, which brought him no small amount of consternation.

His pride and joy, I discovered, was his strawberry patch, not the dandelion.

He ordered his strawberries through a catalogue, which in our mind made them imported strawberries.

My speculation was China. I was convinced these strawberries were from China, which made them irresistible. The thought of eating a strawberry from China was more than I could resist. So, I didn't.

I had been watching the strawberry patch, which was right next to our property. I knew any day one would ripen and I promised myself the first ripened strawberry. A fellow has to keep his promises, especially those he makes to himself.

One day, much to my delight, I discovered the first red strawberry. I hurried to the strawberry patch and was about to pick that ripened delicacy when I heard a noise from our neighbor's back porch. I looked up only to see our neighbor yelling and waving his arms in the air like those Apaches I saw on television.

I thought to myself, someone is really in for trouble. I looked down his back yard to see who was in for it. I saw nothing. Then I looked back to him and it dawned on me that I was the "someone in for it."

Without thinking, I plucked the strawberry and plopped it in my mouth. When our neighbor got to me, he introduced me to some words that took me 20 years to understand - and even now I don't think I could have done what he was insisting that I do.

I don't remember what happened to our neighbor, but a verse from the Bible came to my mind as I looked as those strawberries. "Stolen waters (strawberries) are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant." (Proverbs 9:17 KJV.)

As I stood in the checkout line I thought of the many times I thought I could get away with something. Most people, sometime in the life, believe that they can pull the wool over someone's eyes or get away with some irregularity.

Stolen strawberries may seem sweet at the time, but in the end, they turn to bitterness.

Rev. Snyder's new book, Romance Around a Parsonage Fireplace, is now available at www.jamessnyderministries.com.

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