Deal With The Crap

I spent the first part of my life in a trailer on a dirt road in Hillsborough, NC. The trailer is still there and the road… is still a dirt road.

I recently took the girls down Rosewood Road to show them where Daddy grew up. Every time I drive down that road, and now that I’m back home I visit normally once a month, I think about Ruby Eddins our neighbor across the road.

Mrs. Eddins was married to a fella named Woodrow. They had no children. I knew her husband, but he was mostly confined to the bed in their living room. There was a rusted out VW Bug in the yard, and from what I remember it was Ruby’s brother’s car… unfortunately, he did not return from the war (Korean War - 1951) and she never could get herself to get rid of it, so it just sat and wasted away. He was only 22 years old.

I spent a lot of time at the Eddins’ house growing up, she would watch me after I got off the school bus. My mom would not be home from work most days by the time I got home, so I had to wait at Mrs. Eddins’. She had two large, scary dogs who frightened me. I would walk up to the side porch, and normally the door was open but the screen door was shut. The dogs would alert the Eddins’ that I was there by ferociously barking and snapping at me through the door. It was scary, but looking back a little funny, because as soon as they started their game of intimidation, Mrs. Eddins would yell out, “Don’t let them smell your fear!” and “They won’t hurt you, hold on I’ll put them up!”. I always waited for her to tuck them into their only bedroom. The house, which is still there today and has been remodeled, was tiny compared to today’s standards but it was enough for Ruby & Woodrow.

After the dogs were put away, I’d walk in and sit in the living room with them both, and later after Woodrow died, I’d sit alone with Mrs. Eddins. She really did my mom a huge favor keeping an eye on me, and for that I’m grateful… however, it was an odd “babysitting” experience. Normally, she’d have a soap opera on, multiple coffee cans scattered about with snuff in them, and against the wall was “the chair”. The room was small, there was a small love seat, a chair, coffee table, tv, and the bathroom chair… When Woodrow was in there with the hospital bed, it was especially cramped. I remember the house smelling “old”, with the odor of wet dog fur & bacon grease in the air. I would sit, watch the soap opera (which I felt guilty about because my Baptist Grandpa preached against ‘em at church!), and wait for my mom to get home. Sometimes I’d stare at Woodrow until he would start to yell at me to stop, which looking back on it, is kind of funny… I don’t blame him, kids staring at you can feel weird… The guy was at the end of his life and probably was hallucinating too - the short, fat kid on the couch staring at him probably didn’t create the greatest end-life experience… Ha!

So most days, we’d sit there in silence, with the drone of the TV in the background and the sound of dogs scratching at the bedroom door wanting to get out to maul the child invader of their home.

There on Rosewood Road, the old world collided with the new world. Across the street was our trailer with air conditioning, carpet, and flushing toilets… at Mrs. Eddins’ there was a window unit (Thank God!), linoleum flooring, and one sink in the kitchen that supplied the home with water. There was not a working bathroom. In order to do her business, Mrs. Eddins used “the chair” in the living room. The chair had a hole in the seat and a pot, imagine a cream-colored pot you’d cook a big batch of soup in, setting down in the hole. I knew that if I had to go to the bathroom, I could go pee outside behind her shed or just wait until mom got home.

It only happened a few times that I can remember, but Mrs. Eddins would ask me to dump the pot for her in the outhouse out back. My reward? A Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pie. Now here’s the deal… my mom made sure we always had food at home, but Little Debbie was a luxury item. (How Mrs. Eddins had Little Debbie, but didn’t have a working shower still blows my mind, but whatever…) When mom did buy cookies, they were usually the knock-off brand; normally mom would make peanut-butter, chocolate drop cookies - a story for another day.

To this day, I still love those Little Debbie’s and every time I see one or eat one (can’t really enjoy them anymore, thanks getting old and a crummy pancreas), I think of Mrs. Eddins. Here was the assignment: Dump the Dookie & Get the Cookie.

I’d walk that pot out to the backyard, doing my best to hold my breath and not spill it on me. The lid would rattle and it probably didn’t help that as a 5 & 6 year old boy I was shaking… either from the fear of getting it on me or the excitement of the cookie waiting on me. I’d take the lid off, empty the contents down the hole, place the lid back, and walk the pot back inside. There waiting for me was Mrs. Eddins telling me “You did good!” and she’d hand me my prize.

Looking back, I don’t remember washing my hands… it didn’t kill me. It did teach me a valuable lesson growing up - sometimes you have to deal with crap. Whether it’s at work, at home, driving down the street, walking in the Wal-Mart, whatever it is, you will have to take out the crap. Every reward worth it’s weight comes with some measure of crap.

The crap might be an employee complaining about their co-worker or the customer who you can’t seem to please no matter what you do. Your spouse might just be having a bad day, but you love them enough to power through because the relationship is worth it. (FYI: My wife is awesome - thank God she deals with my crap.) It might be your child being ungrateful for the toys they have, they want “more”… heck, adults do the same thing. Whatever the “crap” is you’re dealing with, understand it’s a choice and instead of “having to” challenge yourself that you “get to”.

Mrs. Eddins was good to me and my mom. She helped us when we needed it, even if she didn’t have a lot. She would come take a shower at our house sometimes. She would watch me and my brother when mom needed help. Mrs. Eddins died in 1994. She was buried in the town cemetery in Hillsborough.

I don’t know all the crap Mrs. Eddins had to deal with… and you don’t know the crap others are dealing with either… but remember that dealing with the crap is what we get to do to enjoy this gift called life.