Travelin' Damn Gypsy Show, an Ode to Stephanie
I finally have the time to tell it. Come gather 'round, everyone, and hear the story of the Travelin' Damn Gypsy Show.
Hopefully you won't get to the end of the story only to say, "That's it? All that buzz for THIS?"
Nevertheless, here is the story of the Travelin' Damn Gypsy Show, not to be confused with the future famous band, The Travelin' Damn Gypsy Show.
The Shehane family was always on the go. There was always somewhere to be. For my sister and me, we were always busy with dance class, ballet, baton, softball, cheerleading, gymnastics, piano lessons, the whole nine yards. We were into anything and everything. We were busy, but I think my parents may have been even busier.
Both Mom and Dad (hereinafter referred to as "Dwan and Susie") had good jobs that kept them busy from 7 am until 6pm. If careers weren't enough to make them tired, they had two mildly hyperactive children, both under the age of seven, who's just "being" could make any adult tired. Children are that way. They are like sponges, always soaking up their surroundings, and their innate responses to everything is, "Why, Mama?" So even when we were not busy with our weekly activities, we were still busy being children. I wouldn't sit still; I was constantly fidgeting. Steph had 20 million questions all the time. We were always biting, wrastling, and kicking one another.
I know I'm jumping around, but stay with me. There is a method to the madness.
Like I mentioned earlier, children are like sponges, so you can usually count on them repeating whatever you DON'T want them to repeat. And Dwan ALWAYS had a smart remark. For instance, when people were acting like a buch of idiots, he'd say, "Travelin' damn gypsy show!" So when my sister's mouth uttered the words, "Travelin' damn gypsy show!" there shouldn't have been any question--she'd gotten it from you-know-who.
One busy afternoon, Susie, Stephanie, and I were in our little gray, Ford Tempo on our way home from Kiddie Kollege (Steph's preschool of choice) and Ms. Maddox's (my babysitter's house). As usual, we were hitting one another, screaming, "Mama, she HIT me! I hate you! Get on your side of the backseat!" (We used to draw an imaginary line across the backseat and if you crossed the line, you got what you deserved) By the time we drove up the driveway, Susie'd had enough. She was worn out from work and screaming kids. She told Steph to get all of our things out of the backseat, because she was fed up. My mother walked ahead. Stephanie, on cue, with her little sister screaming in the background, muttered under her breath, "Travelin' damn gypsy show!" like she meant it. Susie had heard, and had tried not to laugh. Stephanie knew EXACTLY what she was saying, which, in itself, is pretty amazing for a five year old.
My mom just told us that story a week or so ago after she had thrown back a few Coronas. I guess she didn't want to tell us when we were younger because she didn't want us to think that she condoned that kind of filthy talk!
Anyway, corny or not, I gave you the tale of the "Travelin' Damn Gypsy Show."
Talk to you again soon, when the boss isn't cracking the whip, that is.
Hopefully you won't get to the end of the story only to say, "That's it? All that buzz for THIS?"
Nevertheless, here is the story of the Travelin' Damn Gypsy Show, not to be confused with the future famous band, The Travelin' Damn Gypsy Show.
The Shehane family was always on the go. There was always somewhere to be. For my sister and me, we were always busy with dance class, ballet, baton, softball, cheerleading, gymnastics, piano lessons, the whole nine yards. We were into anything and everything. We were busy, but I think my parents may have been even busier.
Both Mom and Dad (hereinafter referred to as "Dwan and Susie") had good jobs that kept them busy from 7 am until 6pm. If careers weren't enough to make them tired, they had two mildly hyperactive children, both under the age of seven, who's just "being" could make any adult tired. Children are that way. They are like sponges, always soaking up their surroundings, and their innate responses to everything is, "Why, Mama?" So even when we were not busy with our weekly activities, we were still busy being children. I wouldn't sit still; I was constantly fidgeting. Steph had 20 million questions all the time. We were always biting, wrastling, and kicking one another.
I know I'm jumping around, but stay with me. There is a method to the madness.
Like I mentioned earlier, children are like sponges, so you can usually count on them repeating whatever you DON'T want them to repeat. And Dwan ALWAYS had a smart remark. For instance, when people were acting like a buch of idiots, he'd say, "Travelin' damn gypsy show!" So when my sister's mouth uttered the words, "Travelin' damn gypsy show!" there shouldn't have been any question--she'd gotten it from you-know-who.
One busy afternoon, Susie, Stephanie, and I were in our little gray, Ford Tempo on our way home from Kiddie Kollege (Steph's preschool of choice) and Ms. Maddox's (my babysitter's house). As usual, we were hitting one another, screaming, "Mama, she HIT me! I hate you! Get on your side of the backseat!" (We used to draw an imaginary line across the backseat and if you crossed the line, you got what you deserved) By the time we drove up the driveway, Susie'd had enough. She was worn out from work and screaming kids. She told Steph to get all of our things out of the backseat, because she was fed up. My mother walked ahead. Stephanie, on cue, with her little sister screaming in the background, muttered under her breath, "Travelin' damn gypsy show!" like she meant it. Susie had heard, and had tried not to laugh. Stephanie knew EXACTLY what she was saying, which, in itself, is pretty amazing for a five year old.
My mom just told us that story a week or so ago after she had thrown back a few Coronas. I guess she didn't want to tell us when we were younger because she didn't want us to think that she condoned that kind of filthy talk!
Anyway, corny or not, I gave you the tale of the "Travelin' Damn Gypsy Show."
Talk to you again soon, when the boss isn't cracking the whip, that is.
posted by Scooter at 4/05/2006 01:48:00 PM
11 Comments:
For the record: the first album released by the future "Traveling Damn Gypsy Band" will be titled "Kiddie Kollege" or maybe it would be "Crossing the Backseat Line" (a little risque actually).
Good post. I have similar story that I'll share soon!!
My vote is "Crossing the Backseat Line"--so catchy!!
That story was definitely worth telling! I don't think I would've been able to contain myself if I was your mom. That is hilarious. I've met your parents before, but after getting to talk with them a little the other night... I can totally see your dad being one to provide the smart remarks!
Kiddie Kollege would have to be an album that one of those cheesy disney channel boy bands puts out and I don't really think they'll be able to name their band anything with the word "damn" in it. My vote goes to the backseat as well.
That's 2 votes for "Backseat".
And my Dad might act a little shy when you first meet him, but once you get to know him, he's one of the funniest people you'll ever meet. He's a great story-teller. I've heard all of his stories before, and I still love hearing them. I'm just amazed by anyone who can tell a good story!
Ah... kids. Mine are forever doing things I have to laugh at and try not to let them see. Usually to their daddy.
(i don't remember saying "I hate you". I DO remember crossing the back seat line, and telling on you for looking/breathing/BEING near me.) Don't worry, everyone - thanks to years of counseling, we turned out just fine ...
I think I was the one saying "I hate you" all the time. I specifically remember getting spanked for saying this, and I was spanked more than once.
I'm thrilled to hear the tale!
I picked up some fun words from the guys my dad coached in basketball when I was 4. I would scream, "Give me the damn ball!" Haha!
All of these tales and more are preserved in the "baby books" I tried to maintain when Allison and Stephanie were younger (we brought them out generously at their senior graduation parties). I would write short "snippets" and place them loosely in the books. The "traveling damn gypsy show" was Stephanie's barely audible response to my request that she, once again, grab the diaper bag while I got the baby (Allison). That's when Stephanie muttered under her breath, "travelin' damn gypsy show." She didn't know that I had heard her, which was even funnier. She wasn't trying to get a response. She knew how to curse to herself at age five. Don't let her fool you.
Allison's responses were not so verbal; she was a do-er. Among the more colorful Allison tales from those days of going-to-the-baby-sitter's at 6:30 a.m. is the tale of THE BLUEBERRY STRUDEL (spell, please). Apparently, the strudel day marked a period when Stephanie crossed the line into the militarized zone of the 1978 Camaro's back seat. Allison began to beat her with her breakfast (a bluebery strudel), and Stephanie screamed, "MAMA! ALLISON'S BEATING ME WITH HER STRUDEL. MAAAAAAMMAAA!" I had to stop the car.
To be continued. There are many tales, proffered generously with the help of coffee or Corona, or just because. It doesn't matter. Love from SLAPOUT!
MAAAAAMA
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