You finish that up buster!

 You finish that up buster!




     One of the epiphanies that took place in reflecting on my youth was that the women ran the show. The fathers brought home paychecks and made man-sounds around the house but the day-to-days were controlled by Moms. So despite being born and raised in the very heart of American patriarchy I was formed in great part by a small group of ladies from our neighborhood. One of the comfortable houses to hang out at was the Whitney pad on Hildreth, right across from the South Gate Park where Olivia ruled with no question over all she surveyed. Later we called her Big O but it was with love because she could be harsh at times. Overall though , in regards to we kids she was an earth mother. She would give plenty of advice and let you know straight up if she thought you were being a fool. Being that growing up includes a lot of foolishness we heard a lot of suggestions from Big O. Yet, no matter what corrections she issued you knew she genuinely cared about you and showed it by her actions. There were 6 Whitney children with one leaving way too soon of leukemia at 3 years of age. Instead of mourning her life away due to this tragedy Olivia dedicated herself to being a hands-on Mom to her five and any other kids who gathered in her rumpus room or kitchen. She fed me lunch hundreds of times and once in a while we would hang out in the rarely used front parlor to hear Big O hold court with a cup of Folgers coffee and a Winston burning in her hand. My Mom joined in and when the Creason's returned to the Gate in 1963 we lived right behind the Whitney home, just a brick fence between us and the smell of barbecued chicken Roy cooked every Sunday afternoon. When he got old enough, my guess is when he was a high school kid Greg would come over to the Whitneys and synch with the  mellow crowd of kids including myself, Bobby Whitnry, Big Brownie, the Knowltons and Bethy Doll Whitney who was the one girl and apple of Roy's eye. Big O's kitchen was always open and one night she made a roast beef with mashed taters etc.  Greg got an invite to dig in with the rest of the moochers and we took our seats at the breakfast nook. Now, Greg was used to the precise and balanced meals at his house where you ate your fill and put down the fork. At the well-fed Whitneys you cleaned whatever was on the plate. So, when Greg ran into some gristle and fat on his roast beef, he pushed it to the side and continued his dinner. We were finishing up when Big O stopped in and saw a pile of gristle and fat on the side of Greg's plate and barked "you finish that up buster!" Poor guy, not wanting to incur O-wrath sat uncomfortably gnawing at these scraps until he could get them into a substance he could swallow. What can't kill you makes you stronger...eh?  I guess so but even at Lawry's where the man could demolish a Lawry's cut in minutes he never ate gristle or fat again. 



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