Right Rear Corner of the Cracker Barrel

Last week, in my column in the Lawrence County Press, I revealed a secret about men.  This was the 2^nd secret about men I have published to the world.  Here’s a look back at the first one I gave up three and a half years ago.

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I’m gonna tell a secret that I shouldn’t tell.  It’s a secret about men that women don’t need to know, but I guess I’ll tell it anyway.  It doesn’t apply to all men, but I’m sure it applies to many; at least quite a few; well, I do know for sure at least one it applies to.  With reluctance, here is the secret:  ladies, if you are ever in a Cracker Barrel store/restaurant and you see your husband or manfriend ease his way to the right rear corner of the store, he’s gone back there to check out the toys.

A few months ago I somehow found myself in that area of the store in the Brookhaven, Mississippi Cracker Barrel.  Since I was already there, I thought I might as well check out the toys myself.  While I was there, there was another kid, I mean, there was a kid there.  He was maybe ten or eleven, and he was dressed immaculately in a grey suit and white shirt with a straight and narrow black tie and black shoes.  If you remember the TV show “Dragnet,” he looked like a blend of Joe Friday and Pee Wee Herman.  He was checking out the toys too, and I nodded my head, smiled, and probably gave him a “hey man,” and went on checking out the toys.

Like most kids would, he must’ve felt a little self-conscious wearing that suit while everybody else in the store was dressed casually, and after a minute or two, out of the blue, as if he needed to explain himself, he said to me “I’m dressed like this because I’ve been to a funeral.”  I told him I was sorry, and asked if it was someone he was close to.  “Well, pretty close, but not really.  He was my daddy’s great uncle.”  I told him again that I was sorry.

I picked up a Slinky and changed the subject:  “Hey, have you ever had a Slinky?  I never much cared for a Slinky; couldn’t do much with them.”

“Yeah, I had a Slinky; I know what you mean, not much you can do with them.”

“Hey, what about an 8-Ball?  You ever have an 8-Ball?”

“No, never had an 8-Ball.  What does it do?”

“It answers questions.  See.”

“Hey, there’s some Silly-Putty.  You ever have any Silly-Putty?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve had plenty of Silly-Putty.”

“You ever mash Silly-Putty down on the funny papers in a newspaper and lift off the picture?”

Looking perplexed, he said “Huh?  No, I never did that.”

“Well, you just put your paper down flat and mash the Silly-Putty down flat on it, and pick it up easy, and your Silly Putty will have the picture on it.”

“Hey, a Super Ball. You ever had a Super Ball?”

“No, what’s a Super Ball do?”

“Bounces real high when you throw it down hard.  I might buy this Super Ball.”

“What about green plastic Army men?  You ever had Army men?”

Yeah, I got lots of Army men.”

“You ever had a top like this?  Except mine was bigger than these.  I liked my top.  And if you got it going fast enough, it would whistle.”

Really?  I never had a top.”

“You ought to get you a top. But you gotta get it going fast.  Oh wow.  Look at this.  You got an Etch-A-Sketch?”

“Oh, yeah, I got an Etch-A-Sketch.  I like ‘em.”

“Yeah, I loved my Etch-A-Sketch.  I must’ve gone through about three or four or them.  But I never could do anything on them but go back and forth over and over again so I could see the thing in there that does the writing. You ever do that?  And I could write words on them; I could write anything.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I could write anything.”  And then I wrote out “U. S. A.” and showed him.

“Wow, that’s cool.  I wish I could do that.”

“You can; you just got to practice a lot.  Hey, I know what you can do; what’s your name?  I will write out your name, and then we can put the Etch-A-Sketch back on the rack here, and you can bring your parents over and say ‘Hey, look at this Etch-A-Sketch,’ and it’ll have your name on it.”

He nodded his head and said, “Martin,” and I wrote his name out on the Etch-A Sketch and put it back on the rack.

About that time my adult, school-man mentality kicked in, and I thought to myself, “This kid’s parents should have checked on him by now. He’s been left with this strange adult (me) too long.”  I turned away from the toy display, and just three or four feet behind Martin and me was a thirty-something woman who looked a lot like Martin, and she was trying to hold back a silent laugh.  I think she’d been listening for a while.

I was satisfied that Martin was well looked after, and I needed to slip out of the right rear corner before my wife caught me checking out the toys.