Hurt Feelings

 

Hayter for September 7, 2025

“The Half-Life of Hurt Feelings” 

Oops, you snuck up on me. Or, sneaked. -- I have been exchanging emails with a friend, who mentioned an episode in school 50 years ago. The incident ceases to leave her brain. Do you have any of those? -- No, it doesn’t have to be 50 years ago. Of course, yesterday is a bit soon.  

By the way, Author Shirley Taylor is the person with whom I was emailing. She informed me about her English Literature teacher and her typing instructor from years back. Both were named Harold Gene. I thought it odd that an English Literature teacher would also teach typing. The two don’t mesh. 

Where was I? Ah, Shirley. While in school she worked in the cafeteria. I’ve never heard of such a thing, but then I didn’t attend her school. I assume she worked in the school cafeteria early mornings. Surely Shirley didn’t have to work there during her lunchtime. Nor was her first name “Surely.”  Regardless, on one particular day a young Shirley scorched her hand while in the kitchen. It was a bad scorch.

Shirley’s hurt and bandaged hand really messed her up in her typing class. For the first week, she was untyping-able. If you’ve ever taken a typing class, you may remember that typing teachers require you use both hands. If you have only one hand, you’ll likely not type nearly as well, nor as fast.  

Of course, today, many people don’t use a keyboard at all. It’s much easier to speak to your computer and let it do the printing. Kay’s brother is blind, so he has computer talk to him through whatever he’s trying to find. Regardless, Kay’s brother Mike is a genius. I wouldn’t trade places with him for anything, but I would trade him the lower back portion of my brain for his. That’s the cerebrum. You can do wanders with that thing… unless you’re using mine. My cerebellum is slower than frozen molasses. If only Kay could get Mike to swap out the bottom back part of his brain with mine I’d get along with him so much better. The guy doesn’t even forget stuff. 

Back to Shirley’s story, let me tell you, it was depressing. Oh, the inhumanity of humans. Uh, that selection of terms shows my need for a better bottom brain part. (Say that six times fast.)

Regardless, as upset as I got at Shirley’s story, I feel the need to share one of  my own tales. It took place in Bristow, Oklahoma back in ’62, and it’s still as real as it happened yesterday. 

Do you remember my cousin Dale? I wish I didn’t either. He was one of my Okie cousins, who was old enough to be my uncle. The guy’s brain seemed to always be keyed into the mischievous. It was at a gathering in the late evening of the Teegarden clan in Bristow. The get together always took place on Grandma and Grandpa’s front porch. The porch always seemed huge to us youngsters. It had a swing that would hold three adults or six kids.  

            During porch gatherings, the kids didn’t get to do much talking. We were meant to listen. Unfortunately, at one point, there was actually a gap in talking that was just long enough for me to say something. So, I came right out with a story. I have no memory of what it was, but I do know one of the words I used at the beginning. It was “golly.” That word was not to be spoken in Bristow, Oklahoma. Especially not on Grandpa’s porch.

Golly was considered taking the Lord’s name in vain in Oklahoma. I knew that. Everyone on the porch knew that. Three days before when we crossed the bridge over the Red River, thus entering Oklahoma, Mom lectured us on not using the words “gosh” or “golly.”

            So, there I was on the porch, with the word “golly” in the minds of all. That word was no sooner out of my mouth, that my cousin Dale, yelled,  “Hold it! Hold it right there! What was that you said, Mark?” I’m sure Mother was upset. Daddy? Later in time he would’ve laughed at Dale making a big deal about “golly.” But that evening, as Dale continued to taunt me, no one came to my rescue.

The entire clan must have agreed that I deserved to be shamed. Dale just continued on and on to try to get me to say “golly” again. Eventually, someone changed the subject, thus allowing me to walk away to the dark side of the house. That happened over 60 years ago, and it still comes to mind. 

Over the years Dale made up many stories about himself. I’ve mentioned that he told us kids about him being the one who trained the Arabian horses in the movie Ben Hur with Charlton Heston. If so, you may remember that Dale knocked out one of the Arabian stallions with a coke bottle, because it refused to behave. The guy could lie a blue streak. Everyone knew he was lying but just went along with it. They couldn’t tolerate one of the cousins saying “golly,” but they didn’t mind kids hearing lies from one of their older cousins. 

That was one of several reasons I never cared much for Bristow, Oklahoma. For all I knew it was the epitome of the entire state. Of course, Claremore, Oklahoma was the hometown of Will Rogers. It’s my favorite part of the State. In fact, I’m going to end today’s article with a quote by Rogers. – “The problem in America isn’t so much what people don’t know; the problem is what people think they know that just ain’t so.”

Will Rogers 

 

End

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