Disclaimer: The time of this story was early 80’s. So please don’t think or accuse my dearly departed mother of being negligent due to my apparent “autonomy” described in the telling of this story. This is a story I’ve never told anyone except maybe my wife? I NEVER told my mom this. Maybe I’ll tell her in heaven when I get there. However, this story is all true to the best of my recollection.
My confession: Another Mom Story!
It was the summer of 1980 or ’81 (or so). My mom had to go back to college to get a Special Education certification. As this was way before the advent of online classes, or the internet for that matter, she actually had to attend in person classes. So she chose to go back to Prairie View A&M during the summers. So, for a couple of summers, she and I moved back to our house in Hempstead which was only a few miles from PV. I hated this because it took me away from my cousins and friends from our neighborhood in Jasper where there was nothing but summertime fun and frolics. I was mostly alone in Hempstead. No contact with kids my age, not even my former school friends. No cable TV and nothing really to do.
Most days while my mom was in class, I was left to my own devices on the campus. You have to remember, this was in the early 80’s. I am a product of Gen X. We are the last of the feral, free range kids. The latch key generation. So this was not unusual. Once my mom would park her car on campus, she would hand the keys over to me and I could sit in the car and listen to music in the air conditioning, or roam the campus as she attended her classes. And this I did! I would go from building to building. In and out of vacant unlocked class rooms. Up and down “the hill” as PV was called, making the best of an otherwise boring situation. There were a couple of times when a brother and sister duo, children of one of my mom’s colleagues, and whose names I cannot remember would be on campus too. We would roam together. Sometimes creating so much of a ruckus that we would get stern, unapproving looks from professors and students trying to study.
My Nephew
Now on to the crux of this story. I had to provide some background first.
On one occasion one of my nephews went to campus with us. His name is Talvin, Jr, my youngest brother’s son, who was around 4 or 5 years old at the time, and spending a few days with us. He was my “tag along” for the day on campus. He kinda slowed me down, because I had to keep an eye on him, but it was better than being alone.
On this day, just like most other days, I went to the campus bookstore, which sat in the middle of campus at the time, to get my usual snack of a Welch’s grape soda and a bag of cheetos. I forgot what Talvin’s snack of choice was but I’m sure it was something just as nutritious. We took our snacks back to the car and sat with the engine on in the air conditioning listened to the radio and ate our snacks. The time was getting close for my mom’s class to end. So I figured we needed to throw away our trash, make one more daily tour around campus and be back to the car in time to leave. We got out of the car. Locked the door and headed toward the bookstore. There was a large trash receptacle outside the bookstore where we bought our snacks. The kind that had the enclosed trash can with the ” roof” type cover and slots under the “roof” where you put your trash. It was the kind that had the “Pitch In” logo on the sides.
Pitch In
Don’t Be A Litterbug
In the 70’s and early 80’s there was a huge campaign against littering. Pollution and littering (throwing and dumping trash on the ground was out of control. There were ads and commercials persuading citizens to keep our lands, streets, towns, and cities clean, and to pick up our trash. Better yet, don’t throw it on the ground in the first place. One such slogan which was probably created to demean people was “don’t be a litterbug.” Nobody really knew what a “litterbug” was, but you didn’t want to be called one. Another very famous commercial and print ad was the ad entitled “the Crying Indian”. In the ad, per Wikipedia, an actor named “Iron Eyes Cody” dressed as a Native American would go around looking at all of the trash on the side of the highways and in rivers and streams and have this really sad look on his face, and then shed that one famous lone tear down his cheek. That tear is now famous. That actor, according to the ever reliable Wikipedia, won several awards for that tear. “The Crying Indian” had a huge influence on curbing littering. Because . . . you know . . . who wants to make an Indian (or Native American) cry? Especially only one tear.
The other slogan was “Pitch In”. The logo for this was usually a cartoon caricature of a person throwing trash in a trash can. This was the slogan and picture on the side of the trash can in this story .
Anyway, back to the subject at hand. We threw away our trash in this trash can. And immediately after I “Pitched In”, trying to do my part to be a good citizen, my heart skipped several beats. It was at that very moment I asked myself in panicked thought, “WHERE ARE THE CAR KEYS???”
So, for some of the younger folks who don’t know, at that time, you HAD to have car keys to get in a car. Most cars had two keys. One for the ignition and one for the door locks and trunk. There were no key fobs, remote locks, remote starts, etc. We had to have keys.
In this moment, as I quietly and quickly attempted to restart my heartbeat and really try not to panic, I began praying a little prayer of hoping the lesser of two evils had befallen me. One, I was wishing I had locked the keys in the car. But not option two, which meant I had accidentally dropped the keys in the trash can. I had actually “Pitched In” Too much. At least I didn’t make the Indian cry, but I sure was about to cry. 😢😭😥
Cheese and Ants
After realizing that I had made the mother of all mistakes in throwing the keys away, I left the car and ran back to the Trash can with little nephew in tow. I thought maybe I could reach the keys. After all, it hadn’t been that long ago. So they shouldn’t be that far down in the can. I reached my hand down in the abyss of this trash can. I couldn’t see where my hand was going because of the angle I had to take and it was dark in there! All of a sudden, I felt something wet on my fingers and then a stinging sensation. I quickly pulled my hand out,and there on my fingers was nacho cheese and ants. Apparently I disturbed the ant’s snack time and they weren’t too happy.
Now the real panic was setting in. I wiped off my hands and decided to go back into the store to see if I could get some assistance. I went to the cashier that had checked us out earlier and explained my situation. I asked her if she had a key or access to open the trash can so I could look for the keys. She said she didn’t, but she knew who did. She told me to wait a few minutes and she would be getting off work and she could take me where I needed to go. I waited as patiently as I could, but I was very nervous for a couple of reasons. One, the clock was ticking. Mom’s class would be over soon. Two, I was going to go somewhere, with a strange lady (who looked very innocent to this eleven year old kid) with my young nephew in tow! Not risky. Not at all!!
To The Garbage Department
When this kind lady finally got off work, she led us to her car. We got in her car. She then proceeded to drive us to an area on the perimeter of the campus. It was an area I had never seen in any of my previous adventures. She brought us to this old wood framed house, with a front porch that spanned the front of the house. She got out of the car and escorted us up to the porch. Unbeknownst to me, this “house” was actually the office for the campus waste management department. She spoke to one of the guys there, and explained to him what we needed. He said fine, and instructed us to just sit there on the porch in the rocking chairs (that’s right, there were rocking chairs on the porch of this office/house like it was your grandmother’s house) and he would be right with us. As we waited for what seemed like forever, I began to get VERY nervous because time was getting short. As people came and went from this little house, we waited and we rocked. The lady who brought us here had long since gone and left us in the care of one of the sanitation workers who would eventually drive us back to the trash can and open it up. Once unlocked, he pulled the can out where it could be accessible. We found the car keys further down in the can. Much lower than the nacho cheese and ants party.
Mum’s the Word
When We finally found the keys we quickly thanked the man and then ran to the car. We got there with a little time to spare before my mother made it to the car. During this period, I took the time to make sure my Nephew said nothing! I tried to make sure that the lips of this five year old kid are sealed! We rehearsed several times that in the event my mom asked what we did all day, he was to say, “Nothing.”
From what I can remember, my nephew did fine that evening. Mom finally returned and he said nothing, or actually “Nothing”. We went home and continued our day normally. I thought that by the next day Talvin, Jr would have forgotten. However, I was wrong. The next day, as we drove back to campus, Talvin, Jr pops up from the back seat (no car seats back then), “Mother Dear! Yesterday, Alvin dropped the keys . . . “
Me interrupting immediately with some completely random statement that I cannot remember, which actually redirected Talvin’s “story”. And fortunately I saved myself from what could have been another crazy beat down.
Eventually, Mom received her special education certification and our trips to PV finally ceased. To this day, when I’m getting ready to throw something away, I double check to make sure I don’t have any keys or anything of value in my hands also.