Sunday Story: Childhood Memories, Sausages and Bats

“Two sisters at the funeral of one of them’s son:

 

A: I remember when I was a little girl and my mom used to put the sausages to smoke in the attic….

 

B: Yeah, my mom used to do the same.

 

A; Listen, honey, is my mom not your mom as well?”

Sausages from Réunion

Sausages from Réunion (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This is what my mind came up with today, in an intense effort to make up a good Sunday Story. The story is true and is part of thousands of family stories told over the holiday meal, while enjoying the Romanian traditional pork sausages. The following one is part of them.

 

“When we were teenagers, my sister, my cousins Elena and Rodica and I left the house to go to the local community center – which was right across the street – and smoke behind it. Even though we all left, only me, Rodica and Elena smoked, Florentina was too coward to try and was  trying to convince us to go home before our grandmother found out we were gone.

 

Shut up, you coward, she’s got work to do, she won’t notice, was our supreme argument to shut her up.

 

Florentina couldn’t do more than just stick with us, even though she despised what we were doing and she was afraid of grandma.

 

She was right too, because grandma noticed we were missing immediately and showed up at the community center with a stick in her hand, ready to apply correction to everyone of us.

 

You stupid girls, what are you doing here? Smoking, ha?! I’ll give you smoke right away.

 

She dragged us all home and locked us in the cellar, even Florentina, whose only guilt was sticking with us. She  kept us there until our parents came from the field. We were cold, starved and terrified that at any moment a bat could appear out of nowhere and tangle in our hair. That didn’t stop us from doing bad things again, though.”

This is a story told by my father’s sister, Dorina and, though it happened before I was born, I do know how terrifying the cellar is, I remember the cold and the bats that appeared God-knows-where-from and that my grandfather used to kill them by throwing them in fire.

It is stories like these that liven up a home and a family get-together and I would love to read other’s stories too, so don’t be shy to write them in the comments or on your own blogs. I think it would be great to have a Funny-Holiday-Story-Encyclopaedia. What do you think?

 

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