Is That Boy Green?

My dad loved to have fun. He loved pulling pranks and especially liked hiding and scaring people. I don't think he did that stuff very often when he was at work, but an account of when he once did has become a family favorite.

He usually worked alone when he was out selling insurance and collecting premiums, but occasionally he had another agent with him. On a day when he was out with a wingman he decided to have some fun with one of his customers.

It was during one of his collection stops that this exchange began:

"I appreciate you paying your premiums on time each week, Mrs. Green, and I thank you for your business. Do you have any other insurance needs?"

"No, Mr. DeLoach, I think you have everybody in the house insured."

"What about that dog right there?"

"Are you serious? You insure dogs too?"

"Sure. Let's go sit down, and I'll fill out the application."

"OK."

"Has he ever had heart trouble, liver trouble, kidney trouble, high blood, low blood, the dropsy, or the fits?"

"No."

Daddy's partner had been doing fairly well keeping his composure until this point, but now he had to excuse himself to go back outside.

"Does he chase cars?"

"No, he just lays right there on the porch."

"And what's his name?"

"Boy."

"Is that Boy Green?"

"Well, we got him from Mr. Williams down the street, so I guess it's Boy Williams."

My Favorite Whipping

One of my more memorable whippings as a boy was when I was about ten or eleven. My dad and I were in the front yard headed to the car one sunny Florida day when he came to the knowledge that I had violated one rule or another. 

We prepared for the peculiar father-son dance that was much more common in those days. My preparation required no real effort and consisted only of mounting dread.  Daddy prepared by unbuckling his belt, sliding it from around his waist in one smooth motion, doubling it over, and taking me by the left arm.

The counterclockwise dance began with Daddy providing the beat while I sang the music. The whipping soon became my favorite when our dog, Skipper, arrived on the scene and started biting at Daddy's legs. I stopped being the focus of attention as Daddy attended to the dog.

After a couple of swings at Skipper, the dog retreated.  I suspect Daddy was at least a little amused at the turn of events, and that was the end of the affair.

I wasn't sure that day if my father loved me, but I knew my dog did.