The Weather

Chasin’ Jackie

There goes Jackie, scamperin’ by in his pamper. All he got on is that pamper. He’s a pamper scamper, I say, and he smell to pee yew, too, and that pamper is fresh new. “Slow down, Jackie,” I say. “Grampa got to change you again.” I yells at him, but he scamperin’ out the room, “Hey you! You got poop in the stoop!”

Jackie yell from the kitchen, “Poop in the stoop! Poop in the stoop!” And he want to play chase like every time when he carrying around a cannonball in his pamper. So I rouse me up off the couch like I always do and I say, “I’m going to catch you, Jackie, and I’s going to dump you in the pee yew dump!” and he giggling and he hiding from me when I does this.

I say, “Grampa gonna get you Jackie!” and I open the hallway door and I’m teasing him with, “Now where did that bad, bad child go? Is he behind this door? Nope. Maybe is he behind this other door? No again. Hmm. I wonder where that child is.”

I holler, “Jackie! You got poop in the stoop? Tell me now, you got a pipe in yo’ dipe? Where is that bad boy who got coal in his hole?”

And Jackie busts out from behind them coats in the closet and he wiggles through my legs, and he’s screamin’, “You can’t catch me, Grampa!” And he does smell, like I say, to pee yew. There ain’t no doubt about it.

And I say the words he know I will say: “You got poop in the stoop? Here I come! You got a pipe in the dipe? Here I come! You got coal in you hole? Here I come! You got a stench in the trench?”

And Jackie’s gone and hided again, standing still but a-giggling behind a curtain and he whisper out, “Stench in the twench!”

I am playing the game, and I say gruff in low voice like a old troll, “Jackie, you is rank in the flank!”

Jackie now is wild and busts out from behind there and hugs onto my leg, gazing up. “Grampa, you ain’t a monster!”

I know he a bit afraid, but I say I most definitely is one, and I hoist Jackie over my shoulder, and I say he smell horrible for a rotten sack of potatoes, and I’m gonna dump him in the dump or change that pamper come hell or high water. I’m a monster who eats a child who can’t stay smelling good, and I carry Jackie up the steps.

Jackie say, “No, say all of ‘em, Grampa. Like you do.”

So I is trudging up the steps and down the hall with Jackie over my shoulder, and I say it as he want me to:

“Jackie, you is one smelly child, gone smelly all the way to pee yew! You got poop in the stoop?”

Jackie say, “No, I ain’t!”

“Got crap in you lap?”

“No, I ain’t!”

“Got a pipe in the dipe?”

“No, I ain’t!”

“Got a stink in the pink?”

“No, I ain’t!”

“Got shit in the pit?”

“No, I ain’t!”

“Got a smell in the dell?”

“No, I ain’t!”

“Got rank in the flank?”

“No, I ain’t!”

“Got coal in the hole?”

“No, I ain’t!”

“Got stench in the trench?”

“No, I ain’t!”

“Got a pack in the crack?”

“No, I ain’t!”

“Got a mass in the ass?”

“No, I ain’t!”

“Got a lump in the rump?”

“No, I ain’t!”

“Got a clog in the bog?”

“No, I ain’t! Ain’t! Ain’t! Ain’t!”

And Jackie holler his big line like he always do as I sets him down, “No Grampa! I gots me a great big cannonball!”

Course, we both laughs when he say cannonball like we always do.  Except this time when I say, “A cannonball, you sure does, Jackie,” Jackie say back at me, “A great big ‘Merica cannonball!”

Now where did Jackie get that? Where did he get that “America cannonball?” I ain’t teached him that. That Jackie! America cannonball outta the mouth of that child.

Tom Bohnhorst is a social worker and lives in Traverse City, Michigan. In 1973, he spent a harrowing night in a Turkish jail. He also has a blog called Poopiderum.