September 21, 2016 -  Have you ever screwed up and the family never lets you forget?

          They never-ever, allow you to sweep it under the rug and forget it.  Gosh it is decades later and my oldest brother still mentions it and wants to rub it in. 

          “I remember when you were a stupid kid . . . .” he usually starts . . .

          Well, let me tell it from my perspective – since I am the one who screwed up.

          My eldest brother, Alfred, just came home from mustering out of the Army in 1969.  He had served in South Korea and had gotten in very late the night before and was still asleep and it was about mid-day. 

I was 14 or 15, a young teenager, and miffed that he wasn’t up yet. I and my other brother, Ken, hadn’t seen him yet because he was catching up on his much needed sleep.  Al hadn’t been home in a couple of years and I was getting tired of wasting my entire day waiting on him so I could catch a glimpse of the “favorite son” home from the service.

          Mom told me to get the frankfurters on to cook.  I was in a hurry because I wanted to escape to my best friends’ house down the road.

          I filled a saucepan half full of water and put it on the stove.  I opened the refrigerator and found the specially “bought for Alfred”, locally made, Hoffman’s frankfurters [wieners]. I unwrapped the brown Kraft paper package and plunked the entire 1 ½ pounds or so of frankfurters in the pot.  Turned on the stove to bring them to a boil and put on the cover.

          I went out the back door letting the door slam with a flap as I was in a hurry . . . . that is probably what woke Alfred up.

          When the frankfurters were ready, Alfred came out to the kitchen, opened a hot dog bun, and took the lid off the boiling pan.  With a fork he poked one frankfurter and placed it in a bun.  He turned from the stove and walked to the kitchen table for the mustard and relish.

          Completely unknown to him, the rest of the frankfurters were trailing out of the pan – all linked together – across the kitchen from the stove to the table like an old fashioned drooping string of Christmas lights.

          Dino the family dog had been dozing in the next room and caught a whiff of the steaming wieners and woke up.  Dino, a beagle basset hound mix, dashed into the kitchen and snatched the string of dangling wieners that were just inches off the linoleum floor and escaped out the back screen door, “flap”.

          I wasn’t there. I was down the road visiting my best friend.  So, I didn’t see it happen.   But, when I got home, I heard plenty about it from my eldest brother, Alfred, and the rest of the family present.

          I wasn’t aware that the frankfurters were the type that were linked together and you had to cut them apart before you cooked them.  I also don’t know how many the dog got away with when he escaped out the back door.

          I’ve only heard it over and over and over, year after year after year . . . my screw up, my mistake and their howling laughter as they continue to recite: “that short legged dog barreled into the kitchen, skidded across the linoleum floor, leapt at the dangling chain of frankfurters, and escaped out the back door with his stolen prize.”

          You see, I wasn’t there.  I didn’t see it happen.  I only got the scathing report from my eldest brother.  It hasn’t changed in over 40+ years, so I guess the story is true.

          But, when I meet Dino in heaven, I will ask him to tell me the story from his perspective since he was the one who got the prize.