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The Misadventures of Taylor R. Bailey

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Contents

Change Isn't Easy!.....................1Ca-ray-zee Joe.........................7The Chicken Coup.......................13The Burn Pile..........................23"Stinky"...............................29Wampus Cat.............................41Big D and Ju-ju........................55Punishment.............................69Ma and Pa..............................754th of July............................81

Chapter One

Moving from one place to another is bad enough, but moving from a brand spanking new home that has the latest amenities in the great state of Pennsylvania to a run down, antiquated, backwoods place in Podunkville is perfectly idiotic to me. Why anyone would want to move out of a beautiful big city where you can go and do just about anything you like to a small do nothing town is beyond my way of thinking. How can any human be expected to live in a house that doesn't have central air and heat, carpet, or even a dishwasher? I can't imagine trying to cool off during the heat of summer with a box that has a few knobs on the front of it that someone plugged into an electrical socket and then shoved into a window. How can anyone with sound mind and any type of sane judgment want to put themselves in a position that uses archaic technology?

Heathens, just simple heathens are what my parents are for making me and my little brother step back in time to live in the same house they grew up in millions of years ago. Just because they grew up living in an outdated, old-fashioned house doesn't mean they should make us live that way. They `loved' it. It was such a `simpler time' they would say to us. `Hard work makes a person value what they have in life.' Blah, blah, blah. My parents kept talking to me and my brother and continually tried to justify all their excuses and good reasons why we should move. I wasn't interested in listening to them or any of their dumb excuses. I didn't want to move.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't appreciate what I had back in Pennsylvania, it's all I ever was exposed to. I didn't know any other way of life. The way I see it is, my parents are the ones who birthed me and chose to raise me in Pittsburgh. They introduced me to the lifestyle I had become accustomed to all these years, right? Why should I have to give up the life I love because they want to move? Can't they see that they are ruining my life?

Arguing with them about it did no good. They had made their decision and we were moving. I guess Pennsylvania was going to be part of my past now that Jen and Rob, my parents, were pulling up stakes and moving me and my little brother, James, off to some little town in Texas called Teague.

They say the main reason we're moving is because the economy is so bad. I don't buy that for one second. I know the real reason-or at least I think I do. Two weeks ago I happened to overhear my Mom, talking on the phone with Ma and Pa Owen, her parents. They have lived in Teague, Texas their entire lives. They said they wanted to start traveling the United States in a Winnebago during their golden years of retirement and they wanted to give their historic two-story Victorian house to her and my Dad. I heard Mom say that they wanted their house to stay in the family. If Mom and Dad agreed to move to Teague it would be a huge burden off their shoulders. They wouldn't have to go through the hassle of putting their house up for sale and moving.

Ma and Pa also thought that this move would possibly do good things for Joe, their oldest son. They said it would be helpful to him to be back in his childhood home. They thought it would be a healthy move for him after being traumatized in Vietnam many years ago. He has had some psychological problems ever since. Nothing has seemed to help his mental stability on a regular basis. He seems sane most of the time, but then there are times when he gets wacky. They were thankful that Mom and Dad let Uncle Joe live with them when he had nowhere else to turn. He had been living with them since before I was born.

To an adult, those sound like perfectly good reasons to uproot a family and move over one thousand miles. But I'm a kid and they sound absurd to me. But who asked me for my opinion about moving to Texas? I'll tell you who asked me. Nobody! I do not find those excuses rational or acceptable.

No matter what I thought about the situation, all of my personal belongings were being boxed up and put on a moving truck for the long drive to Texas.

The lengthy drive gave me many hours of `think time'. I tried to understand all the positive circumstances there could possibly be about leaving Pennsylvania the entire way. I couldn't think of one that would benefit me. I came to the conclusion that Mom and Dad are moving the family to Texas for one reason and one reason only-to make my life miserable. So far it's working!

Ca-ray-zee Joe

"You gotta be kiddin' me! How many clothes can one little kid have? You can only wear one pair of jeans at a time!" Those were the first words my Crazy Uncle Joe Owen said to me while I was unpacking in our new house. I was trying my best to ignore him and get on with unloading ten years worth of my things but he wouldn't let it go.

He then started rambling about when he was young. "I was lucky to have one pair of shoes let alone fifteen pairs like you. I only wore them in the dead of winter when we walked twenty miles in knee deep snow to school so's I wouldn't wear them out."

He went on and on about how people invested too much of their time and money in earthly possessions and how he just couldn't understand what had gotten into people today. All I knew is that I didn't want to unpack my clothes and stuff, especially in front of him. Some of my belongings are personal and private and I would like to keep it that way. They aren't for others, especially boys, to look at. As a matter of fact, I never wanted to pack them in the first place. I was forced. How was I supposed to go on living without my friends? I know this may be hard to believe but I really loved my house, my friends and yes, even my school in Pennsylvania. What was I going to do without all my friends back home? What was I going to do in this awful, wretched place?

Finally, Crazy Uncle Joe, otherwise known as CJ, to me and James, sashayed out of my room mumbling to himself. I heard him say something about the craziness in this world and having a fried bologna sandwich with sardines for lunch. He sauntered out of my room and went to bother someone else. I didn't care that CJ left my room, I was just thankful he was gone.

I slumped down on my bedroom floor and heaved a big sigh. I don't know how much more of this place or CJ I can endure. When I was younger, CJ's weird antics didn't seem to bother me as much as they do now. Mom says I need to make a better effort with CJ. "Work on your patience with your Uncle Joe," she would say, "He's special and needs our love and support."

Whenever CJ would twist off about something, Mom would remind us of his `special circumstances' since coming home from the war. She would stress that he wasn't always like this. When they were growing up they used to play and argue just like me and James do now. "It was just like you would expect a brother and sister to act," she would say.

"Your Uncle witnessed countless people and friends being shot and...