Instinctively I jerk my plate away --- but not because I hate pepper. I happen to love pepper. I especially love pepper on my eggs.
So what would cause me to pull my plate away? Wasn't my grandpa just being nice and helpful? Wasn't the man that took me mushroom hunting and salmon fishing just looking out my best interest? He who taught me several new chords on the guitar -- just striving to increase my enjoyment of the breakfast he had prepared with his own hands?
His face is sincere and inscrutable. Why would grandpa peppering my eggs twig my survival radar?
Ahhhh...there it was. It was grandpa's "tell". The one way I could always know things weren't as they seemed and it was time to proceed cautiously even with the most innocuous of requests.
Grandpa had that twinkle in his eye that he was never able to hide once I knew what to look for. The "twinkle" was his "tell".
"Sure grandpa" I say " I would like some pepper".
I held out my plate as he leaned over with the pepper, but before he can turn the pepper shaker over, I snatch the shaker out of his hand. In the process the lid of the pepper shaker falls off onto the floor, along with a healthy dusting of pepper. Had I let grandpa pepper my eggs, I would have had a little eggs to go with my mound of pepper that morning.
The funny thing about grandpa was that he actually got a kick out of being caught in the act. His laughter would ring out just as loud when he was caught pulling tricks on us as when he successfully pulled a trick on us.
Grandpa's tricks were oftentimes subtle.
"Do you want some honey and crackers?" he asked me and my cousin, Jeff. Grandpa held up a box of saltines and a large honey jar. He was standing at the porch rail and Jeff and I were playing in the yard.
"Sure!" we both replied and ran over to the rail where grandpa handed us both a cracker.
"Hold your cracker up and I'll pour some honey on it" grandpa said.
We both held up our crackers above our heads. Grandpa was still on the porch and us on the ground, so we had to reach high so that he could pour the honey on our crackers.
Since I was the tallest, grandpa poured honey on my cracker first. He "accidently" got a little too much on my cracker and it spilled over the cracker and onto my hands. Thinking nothing of it, I ate the cracker and then licked the honey off my hands. Jeff, too, had a little honey trickling down his hand.
"Ready for another?" grandpa asks.
"Yes!" we both reply.
Again we hold up our crackers. This time more honey seemed to run off our crackers. By the time I was done with my cracker, I had to lick honey off my fore arms. Jeff was even worse. Honey had dripped down the front of his shirt.
Grandpa didn't even ask if we wanted another. Instead of one cracker, we both were handed two.
"Hold up your crackers" he said.
We both held our crackers high.
As grandpa leaned over to pour the honey, he lets out groan.
"Oooooh!" he said "my back hurts. You'll have to hold your crackers higher so I don't have to bend over so much."
Dutifully we hold our crackers high above our heads and grandpa pours the honey. With two crackers came more honey.
"Hold still" grandpa says "just a little more".
When he's done, Jeff and I have honey all over our hands, in our hair, down our shirts, and in our arms pits. Remarkably, very little honey is on the crackers.
Years later, Jeff and I would concoct our revenge.
Grandpa kept his chewing tobacco in the refrigerator. Curious, we took off the lid of one of his cans of "snoose" to see what it looked like.
"It kind of looks like damp dirt" said Jeff.
"It does" I say.
We both got the same idea at the same time.
Running out the the garden, we empty the tobacco contents out onto the ground then replace it with dirt. Mixing water with the dirt to make the same consistency of the tobacco took us several tries, but we were persistent. We replaced the lid and left the can in the fridge right where we had found it.
All day long we waited near the kitchen. We knew that grandpa liked to have a "chew" after a meal, so we waited anticipating dinner time.
Normally after we finished a meal, we would run outside and climb the walnut tree. Not today.
Sitting in his easy chair, grandpa reached into his pocket and brought out his can of tobacco. Jeff and I could hardly contain our laughter.
Taking a large "pinch" he tucked the wad of "tobacco" in his lip.
After a second or two, grandpa made a terrible face and began spitting into his spittoon. Jeff and I couldn't contain ourselves. We were laughing so hard that tears streamed from our eyes.
"I think I've been had" said grandpa. This sent us into more laughter because grandpa's teeth were black from the dirt.
That afternoon, grandpa took us both out to cut firewood. Looking across the meadow, grandpa suddenly puts his finger to his lips and points to a clump of trees.
"Do you see that bear?" he whispers.
"No" I say "where is it?"
"I can't see the bear either, grandpa" says Jeff.
"It's right over there. Hang on, I'll get my binoculars" says grandpa.
Returning from the truck, grandpa hands me the binoculars first.
"It's right there, just left of that large tree" he says.
I look through the binoculars just left of the large tree....and see a black stump.
"It's not a bear, grandpa" I say "It's just a stump".
"Let me see!" says Jeff.
He, too, looks through the binoculars and confirms that it is just a stump.
Looking over at Jeff, he has two large black rings around his eyes. He looks like a raccoon. How did that happen?
Jeff has been looking oddly at me, too.
"David, you've got black all around your eyes" he says.
We both look over at grandpa.
Yep. There it was. His "tell". Grandpa had gotten us again.
