Trevor Lee and the Big Uh Oh! by Wiley Blevins

Author:Wiley Blevins [Blevins, Wiley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Chair Press
Published: 2019-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

I told Mamaw all about word problems, the Family Night reading, and how I didn’t want to go back to 2nd Grade.

Mamaw pulled me in close. And wrapped her arm around me.

“Let me tell you a secret,” she said. “When your Daddy was about your age, he and school had a terrible battle, too. He came home every day with his chin dragging on the floor. One day he announced, ‘I ain’t goin’ back.’ Me and your Papaw marched down to the school to see what was the matter.”

“What was wrong?” I asked.

“Turns out, your Daddy was having a devil of a time with multiplication.”

“Really?” I asked. “But math is so easy! At least the kind with numbers is.”

“Not for your Daddy,” said Mamaw.

“What happened next?”

“Your Papaw worked with him on his homework. The teacher gave him extra lessons before and after school. I said a prayer or two. And after a while, a long while, he did better. He was able to make it through. But he never did take a real liking to it. Always said math was like a relative you hated to see come visit. You had to sit through it, but you didn’t have to enjoy it.”

“Do you think the same thing can happen to me?” I asked. “With reading?”

“I’m as sure as the sun rising in the morning,” Mamaw said with a smile. And I knew she believed it.

“You never do talk about when you were in school. Why Mamaw?”

“Ain’t much to tell,” she answered softly. Then got quiet.

“Well, look at the time. We best be getting a move on. We need to feed those chickens or they’ll refuse to lay us eggs,” she finally said.

With that we gathered our bags of fruit. And headed back.

“I’ll race you to the chicken coop,” I laughed. And took off running. I ran all the way to the edge of the field, near the gate. I was about to unlatch it when I spotted Hippie. And Hippie spotted me. Luckily, when he saw Mamaw puffing and panting behind me, he high-tailed it in the opposite direction. He ran as scared as a pig at a pork roast.

I swung open the coop door. The chickens greeted us with a squawk fest. And Mamaw greeted the chickens by name.

“Hello, Mabel. Hello, Ethel. Hello Edith-Ann. Yes, I see you too Veronica.”

“Veronica?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Mamaw. “She’s the one that flirts with the rooster. See how the other hens keep their eye on her?”

Veronica strutted in front of the nests. Then poked her head out the coop door. Like she was looking for Hippie.

“Get back in here girl,” Mamaw said as she swatted her tail. Then poured the chickens some fresh water from the hose. While I scooped out some chicken feed from the barrel. Something tasty for them to munch on. We were almost finished when we heard the car doors.

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