Gene Edward

Edward is my grandfather’s middle name, and he is from Texas, where everyone calls you by your first and middle name. As a child, Gene Edward was a little demon. He was the demon of all demons. He was, you could say, the “Diablo” from Texas. He was not very nice to anyone at all. If you were on his mental list of hated people, he played evil little pranks on you all the time.

Gene Edward is from a Baptist family, and they were big churchgoers. When Gene Edward was about seven or eight years old, trying to get him to go to church was like trying to drown a fish; it just could not be done. But when Gene Edward heard his mother yell, “Gene Edward!” Gene Edward would go running down the dirt path because he knew his father would be right after him with a broad leather strap.

My grandfather still does not go to church. It is not that Gene Edward does not believe in God, he just prefers not to go to church. He would rather sit at home watching ESPN or an old western on the television. At dinner though, he will bow his head in silence while everyone else prays.

Everything was different for the “Diablo” from Texas. My grandfather told me when he was a little boy he did not like “blankety blank’n” church, he did not like “blankety blank’n” Sunday school, and he did not like his “blankety blank’n” Sunday school teacher.  He did not want anything to do with church or his teacher. At Sunday school Gene Edward wished he was somewhere else.  If he had the chance to run he would take that chance and he would run free and away from it all.

Gene Edward and his family only lived about three miles from their church. Yet he would do anything he could to make his family miss Sunday school and church, or he would at least make them as late as he possibly could. Gene Edward would pull some kind of a stunt every two to three weeks to get out of going to church. He did not do it all the time because the consequence was a woopin’ with his father’s broad leather strap.

Sometimes, Gene Edward went out to the car ahead of time and pump the gas pedal. He did not just pump the gas pedal three or four times, Gene Edward pumped and pumped the gas pedal until his leg was tired. If he was lucky the car would flood. Then when his father tried to start the car, it would make a stuttering sound and die. He would also let the air out of the tires, making it look like they had a flat tire. By the time his dad changed the tire it would be too late for them to go to Sunday school. Now the family would only have to go to church. Gene Edward could dream up all kinds of ways to be late for church.

One day the Sunday school teacher had to go out back and use the outhouse. She left the class for a few minutes. It was a bad idea to leave the class alone, for it was the perfect time for Gene Edward to concoct an evil plan. He quietly followed his teacher out of the church and out back to the outhouse. Gene Edward saw that the grass around the outhouse was brown and dry. Do not ask me why an eight year old had matches, but he took a match and lit all the grass around the outhouse on fire. WHOOSH! The grass went up in orange and yellow flames with his teacher still inside. Gene Edward had an evil crooked smile from ear to ear on his face before he took off running for his house. When the Sunday school teacher found out what was happening to the outhouse she went running out of the outhouse yelling and screaming. The teacher made it out without a scratch but she was scared to death.

The rumor of what Gene Edward had done quickly spread throughout the town. Gene Edward was running home with satisfaction flowing through his demonic little veins, but as soon as Gene Edward reached home he took off running again. His father was barreling right for him with the broad leather strap. Gene Edward’s bottom was red and sore after his father caught up to him. He may have been whipped and scorned but that did not stop the “Diablo” from Texas.

My grandfather still loves to play jokes on people, but they are not as harsh and harmful as they were when he was known as Gene Edward. The jokes that he plays now are more fun-loving and entertaining. One joke my grandfather pulled on me when I was about seven was harsh but funny. He took a small brass horn and filled it with water and told me to listen closely to hear the soft notes it played. Then he blew all the water right into my ear. I was all wet but I was having fun.

My grandfather, Gene Jones, is a really nice man and works hard for a living. Quite often he helps just about everyone with problems, and he does not complain much. He bows his head in silence before meals while everyone else prays, and he respects the things that his family does when it comes to church. But even now, when no one else is watching, I can sometimes see the “Diablo” that once tormented many people.

Dackery Geiman