Walk Tall, Carry a Big Stick, and Scream Real Loud

Growing up in Baton Rouge, my father and I would go bass fishing at my Maw-Maw’s pond. Her nickname would lead you to believe she was of some relation but Maw-Maw was the mother of a boy my father had mentored in Big Brothers. She and her husband, Doc, welcomed us into the family, sharing their lives including the pond on a piece of land they owned close by.

Dad and I would pack up our tackle box, a bucket of worms, our rods, and a cooler then head off in the green Torino. You had to park quite a ways from the pond and walk through thick, tall grass. My father would gather up all of our gear and begin to head off. It didn’t take long for him to realize I was frozen at the edge of the grass, too afraid to proceed. “Come on, Jacqueline” he would say “walk right where I walk.” Thus began my pleading for him to carry me. I was terrified a cotton mouth would bite me if I walked through that grass. I don’t know why I thought the snake would leave him alone and bite me but it made perfect sense at the time.

Back he would walk to where I was standing and explain that it was impossible to carry me and everything else we brought with us for the outing. I could ride piggyback I argued. It was too hot, I was too big and nothing was going to get me in the grass he said but he did have the answer. Sharing with me a word passed down from generation to generation, he taught me how to say “go away snake” in ancient Indian. “Geeeee ya” I screamed walking through the grass. “Geeeee ya”! We never caught many fish and in hindsight it is easy to see why they fled to the cool waters of the bottom when they heard an insane child approaching screaming gibberish.

That was twenty-seven years ago but when I walk through the woods at the ranch I still mutter “geeeee ya” under my breath. It can’t hurt and its kept me alive this long.