Cracker Found Under Aretha Franklin

Breaking news! Cracker found under Aretha Franklin! Film at 11:00. Not really. Hillmomba runs on Central Standard Time, people. The film is at 10:00. Except there is no film. Nobody was recording this earth-shattering event. However, The National Enquirer does deserve special thanks for the role it played as this incident unfolded.

Last week, the #1 son borrowed a book from his buddy, Concussor. He carried it around with him, reading it as time allowed, in the car, in class when his work was done, after school while killing time until basketball practice. He was also reading other books at the time, including Steven King's short story book, Just After Sunset, and The Fountainhead. Unless he finished The Fountainhead. But he had more than one book going. He had The Shining all laid out, but I don't know if he was into it yet. With all this haphazard reading, it is no wonder that #1 lost a book. That, and his absent-minded professorness.

Could #1 lose a book that belongs to the Hillbilly family? Or a book that was loaned to him by his English teacher? If you said, "No," then you are familiar with #1 and his antics. Of course he lost Concussor's book. Not a book owned by Concussor, mind you, but a book checked out of the library by Concussor. Concussor was not worried. "It's not due for two weeks. You'd better find it by then." #1 looked high and low for that book. He last remembered reading it in T-Hoe, so he went out three times to check. No book. He searched the Mansion. He searched my classroom. He searched his locker. The book was nowhere to be found. So he did what any other almost-15-year-old would do: he quit looking.

Wednesday evening, #1 plopped down in the living room recliner. Not having a book to read because he LOST it, he glanced around at the materials on the end table. Aretha Franklin caught his eye. Poor Aretha. The National Enquirer used a most unflattering picture of her on the cover. The article inside was about celebrities considered by The National Enquirer to be fat pigs. They didn't say so in so many words, but that was the gist of it. So #1 picked up Aretha, and hollered, "Hey! Look at that!" I was passing through the room, and said, "I know. It's a really unflattering picture. Aretha deserves more R-E-S-P-E-C-T from The Enquirer."

#1 didn't have the slightest idea what I was talking about. I should have raised that boy better. He did, however, gesticulate in an exaggerated manner, like somebody talking to the natives in that new show on the Travel Channel called Meet The Natives. He pointed at the former resting place of The National Enquirer, which was the latest home of Concussor's library book: Cracker. Before the topic of racism rears its ugly head, let me point out the full title of the book is Cracker: the Best Dog in Vietnam. It's about a German Shepherd who is given to the army because her owner has to move into an apartment and can't keep her. The important thing her is that Cracker was found.

Under Aretha Franklin.