Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Thursday, November 14, 2013

Getting Hammered

Grandma and Grandpa Stringam. Where the humour comes from . . .
My Dad has a great sense of humour.
He came by it rightly.
Let me explain . . .
Dad was in Lethbridge, running errands, shopping.
He stopped by the local hardware store.
There, in a bin just inside the door, was a pile of hammers.
Ordinary, wooden-handled hammers.
He stopped.
He was a rancher.
Hammers were in constant use.
Building.
Repairing.
And they were just as constantly disappearing.
He could always use another one.
He reached out, picking up the one on top.
And made an important discovery.
These weren't normal hammers.
They were light rubber.
But painted so perfectly that they could easily fool even the most scrutinizing (real word) glance.
The only way to tell was to actually pick one up.
Dad picked up several.
In fact everything the store had.
On his way home, he stopped off at his parent's comfortable home near the center of the city.
His father, George, a man past eighty, was seated in his recliner in the front room.
Sounds and delicious aromas were emanating tantalizingly from the kitchen.
Obviously, Dad had come at a good time.
He walked in, tossing a greeting to everyone in general, then entered the front room.
And whacked his father on the knee with one of the hammers.
Grandpa jumped.
"Oh!" Then he chuckled. "I thought you had lost your mind!"
Dad laughed.
Grandpa reached for the hammer. "Well. Isn't that remarkable!" He turned it over and over in his hands.
Then he leaned back in his chair. "Vina!" he called.
My Grandmother bustled in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. "What is it, George? Dinner's almost . . ."
That's as far as she got.
As soon as she came around the corner, Grandpa threw the hammer at her.
"Oh!" she said as the soft rubber bounced off her chest. She put one hand to her heart. "I thought you'd lost your mind!" she gasped, unconsciously repeating Grandpa's words.
Grandpa chuckled as Grandma picked up the trick hammer and threw it back at him.
Yep. Humour is inherited.

12 comments:

  1. The only thing better than a rubber chicken is a rubber hammer in the right hands.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I could use a couple hammers like that...

    ReplyDelete
  3. Hee hee! That brought to mind the foam rocks that were around in the 70's - very realistic but light as a feather :)

    ReplyDelete
  4. Yeah, Grandpa almost fell on the floor, laughing; Grandma almost fell on the floor; she WASN'T laughing. I think we inherited Grandpa's sense of humor.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Humor is inherited. Huh. My mum was a funny lady, dad didn't "get" jokes. From my mum I got good skin, fine wavy hair, bad teeth. From my dad I got brown eyes and next to no humor. But next to none is still better than none. I "get" jokes, I just can't make them up.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I tell myself the humour world needs us audience members! :)

      Delete
  6. Yup! Laughter makes the world go round! So does lots of love.
    Love,
    Chris

    ReplyDelete

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