Lucky Schmucky: One of my first life lessons

Back in the late 70's when I was but a wee one, there was a brief fad that involved carrying around a fuzzy pink, or purple or equally unnatural color taxidermy rabbit's foot on a key chain that was supposed to be lucky. They were in all the stores, they showed up as carnival prizes, all the cool kids had one.  The girl I sat with on the bus most days had a particularly soft and lovely peach colored one that I envied. Sometimes she would let me stroke it so I could be lucky that day.  Being the kid that I was I immediately began to equate all the good things that would happen to me that day with the stroking of the rabbits foot, and conversely all the bad things that happened were because she didn't allow it that day.  I would worry every day that I wouldn't be able to stroke the foot and I began to resent the power this girl had over my life!  She also quickly became a tyrant lording her puffy magic over me, demanding to sit on the inside next to the window, choosing what game we would play or even requiring half of my Little Debbie Swiss Cake Roll at lunch! How unfair I thought, why should she be so lucky and not me. Why should she have this power over my fate?

I remember begging my mother to purchase me one and she refused, claiming they were a silly thing that was kind of gross anyway and why did I need such a ridiculous thing?  She had no idea that my happiness was at stake that I would be able to break free of the tyranny of the girl on the bus and bring shinning good luck to all of our family.  How my grades would improve, how we would have MORE money by the sheer luck of the foot. It was not only something that would make us all intensely happy but it was also a good investment.  Sadly all of my arguments fell on deaf ears as my mother used our hard earned money to buy mere food, FOOD that would be gone in a week and then we'd just have to go buy more.

I grew up in a small farming town and our family wasn't poor exactly, we were better off than many of the kids I knew, however, the country was in a recession and money was tight. In our town you were either on welfare, a farmer or a factory worker and my father was the later who had recently been laid off from the aluminum plant he worked for and so he hunted and fished and we ate quite a lot of wild game.  I have eaten deer, rabbit, pheasant and pat (which is a kind of quail or something) and an uncountable number of wild caught fish which remains one of my favorite things to eat in the world. We never ate any squirrel though, that was for poor people.  In our back yard was a structure made from chopped down pine trees that was used for hanging the deer my dad killed, which also doubled as an interesting jungle gym when we didn't have any dead things hanging from it. We also picked our own food from nearby farms and canned.  We had our own largish garden and ate things some people find offensive like tongue and kidneys. We wore hand-me-downs, homemade clothes, and garage sale fair. We heated our home almost solely with our wood burner and wood we had chopped down ourselves.

Once or twice a year we would cut down the trees and chop the wood for the winter. On these excursions we would all pile into a trailer pulled behind our Jeep Cherokee and dad would drive us out to the back of our 10 acre property to help cut, chop, and load the wood into the trailer to be dried for a year before it was ready to be used as fuel.  When we did this dad would take us all into town after a hard days work and get us a treat.  It was astounding how much work we would do for this treat. Our rewards usually consisted of a can of pop, or a candy bar of some kind or a pack of gum.  My sister quickly discovered that gum was the best gift because it would last a long time and you could use it as currency when the other kids had eaten all their candy.  Well, fortune smiled on me that year after our day of wood loading was done and we walked into Muzzy's (the liquor store nearest our house) and in the front entrance of the store I spied a quarter machine that dispensed plastic bubbles filled with treasures, among them were yes... fuzzy rabbit's feet.  I decided to forgo my usual sugary treat to ask if I could have one of these bubbles.  My dad, unaware of the conversations I had been having with my mother about the foot quickly agreed.  I just knew that the pink one in the middle that I could see through the murky plastic dome was meant for me.  I placed the quarter, and turned the heavy metal crank a full turn until I heard the satisfying ka-chunk and the treasure dropped into the metal mouth of the machine. I lifted the magic door and was completely devastated when I saw the tiny yellow plastic bear with it's eyes stamped on in the wrong place had appeared and not my soft, magical perfect rabbit's foot.  Glumly I took my prize home, being smart enough to know I couldn't ask for another quarter. I think I traded that bear for a third of a piece of gum from my sister.  The bitterest gum I had ever tasted.

Several days later as the snow began to blanket the ground in the late fall my father gathered his brothers together to hunt for rabbit on our property.  I saw my golden opportunity, when my mother wasn't around I pleaded my father "Daddy, if you get a rabbit will you please please please please please give me it's foot?" My father looked into my desperate 6 year old face and agreed that he would.  All day I waited for them to return.  I could hear the dogs barking as they chased the rabbits toward their doom.  I heard the guns as they delivered their swift death to these rabbits that would nourish us fricasseed in cooking sherry, rosemary and thyme.  Finally my father returned with that day's catch and with a hearty laugh he hacked off the foot of one of the rabbits and handed it to me.  "Here ya go kiddo!"  he said with a smile and returned to the grizzly work of dressing the rabbits.

Now, finally I possessed the treasure I had sought for so long, the treasure that would bring joy to my family, and equality with the tyrant. As I looked down and saw the grizzly bloody foot and realized this was not pink, it was not cute, it was not puffy and fuzzy.  This was a wild rabbit's bloody disembodied foot.  This was real.  I froze not knowing what to do, I concluded quickly that I could not throw it away or be forever more plagued by bad luck.  I could NOT show my mother, the I-told-you-so's and gasps of terror would be unbearable, not to mention her total lack of understanding of the severe consequences that discarding this foot would bring!  She would make me dispose of it and I knew that could not happen.  Stealthily I made my way to the kitchen and the drawer in which we kept the plastic sandwich baggies that contained my pb&j's for school lunches. Sadly this was before ziplock bags and therefore there would be no seal. Just that fold over plastic baggie. My dad had severed this rabbits foot at the knee so it was more like half of a rabbits leg and it required two baggies to cover it.  I snuck into my room and hid the object of my desires, dreams, and horror in my sock drawer.  I spent the next half hour sourly weeping in my pillow while my extended family laughed and talked in the kitchen. My only hope was that this foot would at least bring the good luck I believed I so rightfully deserved.

The first day when I opened the drawer to retrieve my socks for the day I wiggled a finger under the plastic baggie quickly and wincingly stroked the foot.  I had my sweetest moment that morning back on the bus when the tyrant asked me if I wanted to stroke her foot, and I said "no thank you". Ahhh the glory of no longer having to kowtow to this girl and her peach rabbit's foot.  I never admitted to her that I had my own foot, she may have demanded to see it, however, she and I both knew her reign as the most powerful one in our relationship was at an end.  It made my Little Debbie snack that afternoon that much sweeter. It was a victorious moment that was sadly, fleeting, as her future extensive sticker collection and beautiful unicorn sticker album would make mine seem tawdry and laughable.

Over the next few days as the rabbit's foot quickly putrefied in my sock drawer encased precariously in two sandwich baggies I started to realize the gravity of the situation I was in.  I did not understand why this foot was not like the ones with the gold caps and chains.  Why was it becoming stinky, moldy, and horrible?  I was still however, too afraid to dispose of this disgusting hunk of rotted flesh.  How would I survive the terrible bad luck that would most certainly rain down upon me.  How would I maintain the equality I had gained with the bus tyrant without this foot.  Each morning putting on my socks became a more and more dreaded chore.  Needless to say it was not too long before my mother discovered the abomination festering in my sock drawer.  Words cannot describe the anger my mother expressed.  The fight my parents got into after that little event was rather epic. I remember how ashamed I was, how misunderstood I felt.  Of course the monstrosity was disposed of swiftly and honestly I was rather relieved.  Even though I was afraid of the path my life might take I was thankful that my socks had been liberated.

That night was spent in terror, images of the bloody putrid foot attacking me went through my mind. Scenarios of horrible ends brought about by unfortunate luck were played out.  By the next morning I was near tears as I climbed the large high steps of the bus.  I made my way to the seat where the tyrant waited with her peach disembodied claw and I was surprised at my revulsion for the thing.  As we rode in silence and I tried to hide my welling eyes I made a decision, I had found the way out of this impossible situation and I knew, there was no such thing as a good luck charm.  My luck would not be different, I would not be controlled because it was never true in the first place.  Of COURSE the cut off foot of a rodent wouldn't bring luck what a silly idea.  I almost laughed out loud as I realized the folly of my thoughts, I felt light, happy.  I never again sought a luck charm.  I did put my faith in many other follies, I did continue to make terrible choices in order to fit in, to be happy, to be liked and accepted but the luck charm magic had ended.  It has been a long nearly 40 year journey from one lost faith to the next, each time feeling the lightness of loss, the joy of letting go of fear, the freedom of autonomy.  I am so thankful for that first lesson. I hope my children can learn some of their own lessons this way, by getting exactly what you want and finding that it isn't at all what you thought it would be, and that the lesson learned by that disappointment was totally worth it.

Comments

aly said…
Wow, what an intense story. Thanks for sharing! I felt sad while I read about all the stress this situation caused you. The way your parents responded reminded me that I need to take my kids' fears and worries more seriously. I know they need to learn these kinds of lessons but I hope I can make it a bit easier on them. Also, the putrefying rabbit foot made me shudder.

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