Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Special Treat – The Funny Guy

February 24, 2007

I am happy to announce another new writer for Storytime Tapestry. The Funny Guy becomes writer # 409. Please email him and welcome him to the fold

THE BREAD STORY…

The Funny Guy

When I was around 8 years old, this is going back to the early 70’s… (Now don’t be doing the math trying to figure out how old I am, let’s just say I’m old enough)

My mother (who is Italian – it’s not a good thing or a bad thing, I just thought I’d let you know) was planning a big family get-together (were talking like 50-60 people – I have a big family) and was in desperate need of BREAD.  My father was working, my older sister was at a friend’s house and my older brother was out playing hockey.  I was upstairs watching TV (on the a black/white with 2 antenna’s in the shape of a V on it – now you can stick a TV on the wall…go figure?) when all of a sudden I hear my mother calling me (I’m thinking I did something wrong – that’s usually when my mother calls me) and she tells me (not asked me) to go buy bread for her.

Being the nice son that I am I said sure no problem.  I see my mother getting a piece of paper and a pen and began writing.  I’m going to buy bread, how hard can that be? (Believe you me, you’ll find out).

I ask my mom… “Ma what are you writing?”   She says “I’m making a list of bread that I need” – (in Italian) which I could translate for you but why? 

Ok… I’m thinking how long does it take to write BREAD on a piece of paper?  I was 8 years old; I figured it took a while. 

My Mom finishes and I could see her “folding” the piece of paper (not once, but a couple of times?)  Maybe the piece of paper was big and she just wanted to make it smaller so I could carry it better (boy was I wrong).  I take the paper and began to unfold it.  My mother screams out “What are you doing?”, Ma… I just wanted to see what you wrote.  Never you mind (that’s how my mom speaks in broking English) what it says, go buy the bread.  You don’t fool around with my mother; you just do as she says.  “Ok… I’ll go buy the bread”

So I take the paper and start walking outside heading towards my bike (which was a 10 speed, not ideal for carrying bread – you’ll see).  I hop on the seat and just before heading off, I figure maybe I should take a peek. I take the paper out of my pocket and began opening it (can you believe it unfolded 10 times – It was as long as my arm!) It had every kind of bread known to man on it… buns, biscuits, loafs, bagels, long ones, shorts, round ones, round ones with wholes in the middle, everything!   Along with the money to pay for it (must have been $1000 I thought).  Here I’m thinking how the hell am I am going to carry all this bread? 

Fearing to go back in the house to tell my mom (I was a big boy I could do it) I had to ask her how I was going to carry all that bread.  I walk downstairs and there she was making pasta (Italians don’t believe in buying pastas – that would be to easy).  I say “Ma, how am I going to carry all this bread” “Are you still here she says?” (Nice eh?) My mom thinks about it (Like she actually thought I was going to carry the bread in my hands?)  She walks to the pantry, reaches in and pulls out a hand full of shopping bags.  “Here she says, now hurry up”. 

Like a dummy (hey! I was 8 years old, don’t be like that) I take the bags, get on my bike and start peddling off to the bakery.  All the way there I’m picturing me on a bike surrounded by bread.  I arrive at the bakery, parked my bike outside and walk up to the counter.  The lady says “Can I help you?”  “Yeah” I said.  My mother needs all this bread, I handed the lady the piece of paper.  She opens it and had a huge smile on her face (like she just won the lottery, you know she was going to make a big sale).   She looks it over and then says “I can’t read this very well” and she points out some words and said “What does this say?”  How the hell should I know I said (in my head – I was a nice kid).  The writing looked Chinese but the lady said she could figure it out.  “Ok… figure it out I said”.

I’m sitting there watching these ladies (yeah that right ladies – it took more than one to fill those bags).  “Here you go” the lady said to me.  “Can I help you put these bags in your car?.... “CAR”!... What car I said?  I have my bike.  The lady looks at me like I’m from Mars.  “How are you going to carry all these bags?” she says.  (Ah.. apparently you weren’t there when my mom said “Never you mind, just go” – again in my head)  I ask the lady to help me “Load” the bread on my bike.  We go outside, I sit on the seat and she begins handing the bags to me.  I must have had at least 10 bags on each hand.  “Are you sure your going to be able to ride your bike like that”?.  (Umm, I don’t think I have a choice now do I?) I tell her.   Yeah no problem (Like I do it all the time). 

So there I am sitting on my bike, 10 bags of bread on each hand (and if that’s not enough for you) I had to cross a 4 lane road with no STOP LIGHTS!  I ask the lady for a push and she does (Now if you were in her shoes, wouldn’t you have pushed “LIGHTLY”?)  Well she decided I needed to break the speed barrier and launches me.  I manage to get up to edge of the road (without falling) and see nothing but cars.  I tried to brake but my hands were glued to the handle bars (have you forgotten I had 20 pounds of pressure on both hands).  What if I had to suddenly brake I’m thinking?  I managed to circle the parking lot until the coast was clear.  I saw my chance, prayed and went for it.  I cross the first lane, the second lane, the third lane and then “Oh my God” (I had your heart pounding there for a second didn’t I?) the last lane… “I MADE IT” I said (Damn I good)

As I’m riding all I could feel was bags hitting me all over (and I’m talking ALL OVER) I kept on riding (thinking everything is going good) and then all of sudden (this time I’m serious) a car cuts out in front of me as I’m turning onto a side street.  I go to reach for my brakes but my hands couldn’t move (Now this is the part you can tell your grand children about) Remember I have about half a second to react at this point.  I manage to free my right hand (still holding the 10 bags – can’t let go of the bread) and then the turning point.  Do I go for the brakes (If I do, I’m back to where I was) then it hit me (this goes down as the greatest decision ever made – by a 8 year old) I decided to grab the bags of bread and throw them into my front tire (that should stop the bike I thought) Well Holy mother of Jesus did the bike STOP.  It stopped on a DIME! Next thing I feel, I’m going head over heals over my handle bars (without a helmet mind you) Now what am I going to do? I’m thinking.  As I’m going over my handle bars, my left hands become free (Oh great I’m thinking now I can use my left hand as well) still holding the bags of bread (I’m thinking about momma).  At this point I had to make a quick decision (like I had a lot of time to make that last decision) Do I take a beating now or take a beating at home?  (Believe you me the beating at home is way worse).  I opted to take the beating now.  I take the bags from my left hand only (the bags from my right hand are stuck in my front tire… remember?) and threw then in front of me (tried to cushion the blow – I had to think about my future too you know) the bags land perfectly for my back to land on (this is a good thing right?... WRONG!) I hit those bags like a stream roller hits tar, I turned every piece of bread into a pan cake (Flat as a board – you could have used it for paper, which I should have to write my will on because I still haven’t had “time” (HA) to think about how I was going to explain this to my mom) What happened to the bread in my front tire your asking?  Well those got chopped up into a million little pieces (you should have seen the birds bolt down for them – god forbid they flew down to help me)

The Car (the one who’s to blame for all this or is it my mother?) sees all this happening in his rear view mirror and slams on the brakes.  Open’s the door and comes screaming “Oh my God, are you Ok?  Me?... Who cares about me I said – LOOK AT THE BREAD!!  “Can I take you to the hospital” he says. “Buddy, I gotta be home in 5 minutes, I have no time for hospitals” “Are you seriously hurt?” he says.  Humm…”have you ever flown over your handlebars before? – try it and then let me know if it hurts” I get up and see nothing but bread all over place.  I’m running all over the road looking for any piece of bread that was still edible (I had a go a few rounds with some Seagulls, they wouldn’t let go of the bread).  I couldn’t go home with NOTHING.  I managed to scrap up enough bread to fill 1 bag.   I picked up my bike, not a scratch on it (they don’t make them like that anymore, now there made of this Carbon Fiber stuff – you can snap it with your fingers).   

I climb on top, start peddling (slow…very slow) thinking… What am I going say?…What am I going to say?(to my mother)... If I tell her I fell off my bike, she’ll kill me.  If I tell her someone stole the bread, she’ll kill me even more (is that even possible?).  If I tell her I lost the money (no…no…bad idea).  What could I possible Say that would give me the least beating?  Remember when I said should I take a beating now or take a beating later? Will it’s time to take the beating later.  I pull up to the house, park the bike (still in mint condition) and for the first time I take a look at myself.  My cloths were ripped, I had a few cuts and scraps and its like – that’s it… once she sees me all busted up, she could never want to hurt me then.  I walk down the stairs waiting for my mother to open her arms and embrace me with a huge Kiss.  But in stead I hear her saying “Where the hell is he? I’m gonna kill him, Wait till he gets home, How long does it take to buy bread?, (you would think at this point she would have run out of things to say… well she didn’t, she was just getting starting) it’s been 5 minutes since he’s left (ah… it’s a 10 minute bike ride, not walk) where the hell is he? (I should tell you that my mom is saying all these “nice” things about me in Italian, which is way funnier but it would take to long to translate everything)     

My mom finally sees me coming (please, please, please, huge me and kiss me – I’m thinking) AND SHE… (I’ll leave up to you to guess what happened).

The Funny Guy

niko1399@cogeco.ca