IT ALL STARTED
It all started with a phone call.
“Are you the one who tells tall tales?”
“Sorry. Wrong number,” I said. “I don’t tell tales. Not even fibs. I’m the most truthful person in the world. My middle name is Truthful.”
“Well, we’ve got a bus load of kids coming in from Kentucky and they’ve been promised some Tennessee tall tales and your name is the one on my list.”
"There must be some mistake."
“And sorry for the late notice, but could you come right away?”
I got in my car and drove to Clinton, making up stories on the way.
And I’ve been telling them ever since. In fact, I never tell the truth any more at all. The stories are mainly about kids and animals. The animals are just ordinary, inexpensive pets, like yours, I imagine. There’s a Dozy – I’m sure you’ve seen one of those – and a one-eyed Blear, and a squirrel that plays checkers. I may even throw in a varmint or a serpent or a creepy-crawlie.
Sometimes, I bring my family with me when I tell tales. So I’d like to introduce my family to you now. Here, standing beside me, is my wife, Misry. Oops, where did she go? Oh, there you are. Misry, could you turn around? They’re out here. Well, could you maybe wave just a little? Well, don’t worry. She’s just shy. She’ll turn around in a minute or so and wave. She loves company and she’s really happy to see you.
And over here is our son, Leroy. He’s six years old and six feet tall. He grows one foot a year. I just don’t know how we’ll manage when Leroy gets to be a teenager.
And way over here, this is Rowf. Rowf is actually the great grandchild of Scout. At least, we think he is. But that's another story. There, good dog. Ouch! Bad dog. Don’t worry, I’ll be all right. I’m used to it. Rowf loves children. Really. In fact, after the last story hour, there was a child missing. I got a nasty letter about that. And I showed it to Rowf. “Rowf,” I said, “this is unacceptable behavior. Any further occurrence of this type of behavior will result in severe disciplinary action.” Rowf understood me perfectly because with Rowf, it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it. So there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll just take a quick count to be sure.
My family helps me tell the stories. When Misry turns around, you’ll see she has a little ukulele and she’ll strum along. Leroy stomps in rhythm and Rowf goes “Rowf” when we come to his favorite part of the story.
It all started with a phone call.
“Are you the one who tells tall tales?”
“Sorry. Wrong number,” I said. “I don’t tell tales. Not even fibs. I’m the most truthful person in the world. My middle name is Truthful.”
“Well, we’ve got a bus load of kids coming in from Kentucky and they’ve been promised some Tennessee tall tales and your name is the one on my list.”
"There must be some mistake."
“And sorry for the late notice, but could you come right away?”
I got in my car and drove to Clinton, making up stories on the way.
And I’ve been telling them ever since. In fact, I never tell the truth any more at all. The stories are mainly about kids and animals. The animals are just ordinary, inexpensive pets, like yours, I imagine. There’s a Dozy – I’m sure you’ve seen one of those – and a one-eyed Blear, and a squirrel that plays checkers. I may even throw in a varmint or a serpent or a creepy-crawlie.
Sometimes, I bring my family with me when I tell tales. So I’d like to introduce my family to you now. Here, standing beside me, is my wife, Misry. Oops, where did she go? Oh, there you are. Misry, could you turn around? They’re out here. Well, could you maybe wave just a little? Well, don’t worry. She’s just shy. She’ll turn around in a minute or so and wave. She loves company and she’s really happy to see you.
And over here is our son, Leroy. He’s six years old and six feet tall. He grows one foot a year. I just don’t know how we’ll manage when Leroy gets to be a teenager.
And way over here, this is Rowf. Rowf is actually the great grandchild of Scout. At least, we think he is. But that's another story. There, good dog. Ouch! Bad dog. Don’t worry, I’ll be all right. I’m used to it. Rowf loves children. Really. In fact, after the last story hour, there was a child missing. I got a nasty letter about that. And I showed it to Rowf. “Rowf,” I said, “this is unacceptable behavior. Any further occurrence of this type of behavior will result in severe disciplinary action.” Rowf understood me perfectly because with Rowf, it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it. So there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll just take a quick count to be sure.
My family helps me tell the stories. When Misry turns around, you’ll see she has a little ukulele and she’ll strum along. Leroy stomps in rhythm and Rowf goes “Rowf” when we come to his favorite part of the story.