The Chapter Headings and Introduction to:
Mingos and Sharp Parts:
The Collected Wit and Wisdom of
Kenneth Calvin George Eddy
Synopsis:
A collection of funny stories about KCGE and what they have meant to me and my family.
Chapter 2 The Hockey Puck
Chapter 3 Binky Boy
Chapter 4 Ungehuerlische Kinder
Chapter 5 Baby-In-A-Basket
Chapter 7 Mother’s Milk
Chapter 8 Pink Pink You Stink
Chapter 9 Isn’t Everything Clean at the House of Mouse?
Chapter 10 Fangs for the Memories
Chapter 11 LodPig
Chapter 12 Cars Crash in Flat-Out II
Chapter 13 Everybody’s Friend
Chapter 14 Call the Fashion Police
Chapter 15 The Littlest Dragon
Chapter 16 Hospital Timeshare
Chapter 17 Mingos and Sharp Parts
Chapter 18 Suffer the Little Children?
Chapter 19 My Bottom Said a Bad Word
Chapter 20 I am Your Tiny Husband
If you are one of the billions on this planet who do not know me and my kin…Hello. Welcome to this snapshot of the Eddy Family. It is not in Hi-Def or even very realistic. What I present to you is a photoshopped version of one small child’s adventures during the first five years of his life. The colors are brighter than real life, the images slightly less so. Oh, everything here happened certainly. Just maybe not quite the way we remember.
Before I can begin with the stories though, I must ask you, the reader, for a favor. See, I am not sure if the child is my fault or not. Psychologists and Anthropologists have argued for over a hundred years about which has more of an effect on our development: nature or nurture. The former say that we are who we are because of our genetic make-up and it does not matter where we live or who raises us. The latter position claims that we may overcome our physical or mental limitations to become whatsoever we desire. Why is this important? Because I fear that my youngest son is irreparably warped and it is all my doing. So, gentle reader, please examine this book carefully and then contact me with these five words: It’s All His Momma’s Fault. Thank You.
To understand the genesis of the child, and hence this book, I need to introduce you to him. Kenneth Calvin George Eddy was born on January 17, 2007 in Bakersfield, Ca. His parents married fairly late in life but decided that bringing at least one child into this world was an admirable quest.
Kiff, as his is known, was named for three of the most influential men in his father’s life. First on the scene is the baby’s paternal grandfather Kenneth L. Eddy. “Papa” is a stern but loving man who transformed himself from the stoic Deputy Sheriff with 30 years on the beat into a kind, thoughtful and generous teddy bear. All it took was 10 grandchildren.
Calvin was inspired by the individual you are thinking of at this very moment, hoping that you are wrong. Yes, Kiff’s parents hoped that the boy would be creative, funny, brave and be a founding member of G.R.O.S.S. just like Calvin and his tiger Hobbes.
Finally is the very common name of a most uncommon man. George “the Giant” MacArthur is a 7’ 3” tall, 270 lb sideshow performer who specializes in sword-swallowing, fire-breathing, escapes, and dozens of other amazing feats. He is also like a brother. You may have seen him in Big Fish or on America’s Got Talent. He’s on YouTube…Look him up.
Finally, I would like to share the story of Kiff’s birth. Not what really happened but the fable I have told the family for years. It grows bigger with each telling, if not better. For the full effect, read it in a faintly southern accent.
So I was asleep one night, late in Heather’s pregnancy. This being my third child I knew that once he was born I would get precious little rest for a long time. Therefore I napped whenever possible. Deep in dreams I walked from room to room searching for my M&M’s and sody pop.
From the shadowy corners of my mind came a faint cry, “Briiii-an”.
I looked around and saw nothing so I continued in my search.
“Briiiiii-an.”
“What!?” I cried at the ever louder voice. “What do you want?”
I’m not sure when I passed that mystical line between sleep and wakefulness, what I do know is somewhere in that twilit realm, my wife was calling for help.
“Briiiiii-an, it’s time. My water broke!”
As with any good husband I sized-up the situation and made a decisive move. “So go get a mop!” I yelled and rolled over in the bed.
“I’m…having…the…baby!” she growled at me from the open bathroom, her teeth clenched and murder in her eye.
Now that I understood who was in charge of the situation I was ready to take my orders.
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“You need to call the nurse at the hospital.”
“Well allll-right.”
So I rummaged among the piled sheets, discarded socks and bath towels from the night before until I located the phone.
Riiinngggg, Riiinnnnggg
“Maternity”, came the answer.
“Hello,MyWife’sWaterBrokeAndINeedToKnowWhatToDoNext!” I screamed in one breath.
“Did you get a mop?” she asked calmly.
Resisting the urge to curse at her, or worse give the phone to my wife, I clarified the situation.
“No! My wife is having a baby.”
We discussed the problem for quite a long time. At least 20 seconds. Then she conceded that we should go ahead and come on down.
“Dear,” I ventured quietly, “She says we should come in. Where’s your bag?”
“It’s not packed yet.”
I looked at her with love and understanding. “What are you going to need?”
“Just the essentials”, she said despite the discomfort or fury she was feeling. I’ve never quite been able to tell the difference.
So I grabbed an overnight bag and threw in a nightdress, underwear, socks, a puzzle book and three bags of Dove chocolate. With these essentials my Heather could face the world.
We waddled out to the car and strapped ourselves in. Finally! I was Jeff Gordon!
Out of the parking lot we flew, tires squealing through the 2am silence. We barely touched the speed bumps, one two three and swung wildly around the corner. There was no one on the road and so I opened up the powerful four-cylinder engine that prowled beneath the hood and let it roar.
We busted the first red light going forty miles an hour. The intersection was clear of traffic and we didn’t need that muffler anyway.
For once I was glad of slightly balding tires as they helped me “Tokyo Slide” through another turn and onto the freeway.
Here’s where I really made time. I slammed my foot to the floor. The tachometer climbed from green to yellow to red. Smoke trickled from the engine as we broke the nearly unimaginable 90 mile per hour barrier.
Quick as lightening, or at least a hundred watt bulb, we arrived at the Hospital before our group could turn from two to three.
I slowed to a gentle roll before kicking my wife through the door and headed off to find a parking spot. Within moments I was entering the lobby and looking for that gentle peach blossom that was the mother of my latest progeny. Instead I was met by two large interns, looking disdainfully at my wild hair and maniacal eyes, not to mention the green plaid lounging pants and pink/purple Hawaiian shirt. They suggested I head for the psych ward down the hall but after a few seconds discussion they agreed to escort me to maternity. Truthfully, I didn’t see much difference.
Soon I was in a room with my sweetheart, she laying on a comfortable bed, monitors and tubes attached to her in every conceivable location and we waited. Then we waited. After we finished that we waited some more.
Finally a very pleasant looking nurse came in a told us that, since nothing was happening, we would be put on the list. “It shouldn’t be more than 4-5 hours” she said with a smile.
In a fit of indignation I rose up; summoned all my righteous anger; looked her dead in the eye and said, “Fine! Then I’m going back to sleep! I can finish dreaming about my M&M’s”.
To which she replied, “And sody pop?”
I will leave you, my dear reader, to decide if this poor child ever had a chance at a normal life.
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