My first Blog post. I’ve given this some thought. And I think it should be a story about my originators – my parents. My Mom takes the brunt of the abuse in this story. Just so you know, at almost 96, she still LOVES this story. It’s important to laugh at ourselves. My sisters – well, they might not take this as well.
Mom and Dad were married Thanksgiving Weekend, right before Pearl Harbor. They met at University of Maryland, and both had graduated the prior spring. Dad had just turned 21 a few weeks before, and was then eligible to be commissioned as a 2nd Lt, US Army. He went to college on a ROTC scholarship. Mom was still 20. Mom was raised on a farm on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Even today, it’s like going back in time. She was quite naive.
They came back from their honeymoon, in time for the War to start. They were sent to, as I recall, Ft Benning, GA, for war preparations. As was common, the officer’s wives got together quite regularly. Women. Gossip. The conversation got around to food. Mom, who was the youngest, was asked what her husband likes to eat. Now, imagine the scene: Officer’s wives, in the early 40s, having afternoon tea and crumpets. All dressed up. Or whatever. From lowly 2nd Lt., to field grade officers. Mom: “Oh, my Sam LOVES his donkey dick”. Tea shot out of noses. “Oh, yes, he just LOVES donkey dick”. Poor Mom. She had no idea.
It seems that she would go into the Commissary, to the meat market, and order sandwich fixings. Ham. Cheese. And donkey dick. “John, this week I’d like a whole pound of donkey dick”. Meat cutter didn’t bat an eye. Dad called bologna (baloney) “donkey dick”. Mom had no idea that this wasn’t a real cold cut, much less what it really meant.
Now you know where I get it from.