One On Me

I just realized, writing these funny stories about my ancestors, that I would also have to include a few funny ones about me as a child to be fair to the others, that I have written about.
Growing up on Bearhead, there were certain things you did. You never said no or I don't feel like it. If you ever did talk back like that to any adult, that was an automatic Butt whipping. More on that later.
One thing most everyone did on Sunday, was go to Sunday school and Church. Our family Church was and still is as far as I am concerned, is the Singer Pentecostal Church in Singer, La.
I imagine I was about four. when this particular event happen. At the end of Church services, the pastor would announce what activities would be taking place in the coming week along with the number of folks in attendance at Church that morning. Along with the amount of money taken in when the offering was given.
The announcement at the end of services this certain Sunday, the pastor stated that the following Saturday evening, there was going to be a "HOBO STEW" at the church and everyone was welcome.
For those of you who do not know what a "HOBO STEW" is, that is where everyone in the community or church got together. Ever family would bring something to add to a big black kettle . Potatoes, meat, onions, it didn't matter what you brought, it was all added to the pot and cooked. The women cooked and prepared the food, kids played games and the men would gather and talk about what was happening in the community and swap old tales.
But when I heard the announcement this Sunday, It scared me to death. I was terrified. I didn't want to go to that "HOBO STEW". I wasn't going and that was it. I was scared to death for the next week. It affected me so much, that even at that young an age, I knew better than to ever talk back or tell my parents no, about anything. Then the dreaded evening got there and way to fast for me. I kept making excuses as to why I didn't want to go, didn't feel good, sick stomach, fever, fainting spells, my flat top wasn't cut short enough, I was out of the "Butch Grease" we used on our flat tops, Old Age, my teeth was falling out. Any excuse, any at all, to keep from going to that "HOBO STEW".
My mother finally asked me what was wrong, I finally fess up {For you Youngsters, that means to tell the Truth} to my mother. I was scared of going to the cookout, because they were going to "COOK UNCLE HOBO".
As you know from a few other stories here, I had a GG Uncle name Lexlie Ashworth and everyone called him HOBO. I just knew they were going to cook him. All week long I had the vision in my mind of him being put into that black kettle and cooked. HHHaaaa