Big Pig [1957--summer] article by Dennis Siluk

I never knew Dennis had such a childhood, see what you find out when you just wait. Anyhow, I'm not sure if this is one of those things: boys will be boys, but it is interesting. Rosa

[1957—summer] It was a bad year for Mike Russet, and his father; he had gotten cancer, and died. I hadn't' known anyone to have died up to this point, it was my first encounter, experience with the face of death, my very first look at death; that is, it was my very first stumble upon it, it was a new feeling, kind of like he belonged, and then was gone, that is he belong to this world, and now was out of it, and not for a week or month, but not to return: prior to this, his father would take Mike and me out on town trips, like a picnic or so; a few things not often, but occasionally.

For me it was always nice that he asked me along, knowing he wanted to be with his son, but Mike wanted me along, and his father wanted to please Mike; but Chris felt out of place, or even misplaced at times; but I like Mike's father, mine had left before I was even born. So it was a new feeling if anything that his father accepted me and liked having me along. I was ten and a half years old; mine a year younger than I. But I'd remember this one afternoon the rest of my life; oh it must had been about several weeks before he was bed-ridded, when he took both me Mike and Mike's mother to a farm, and both us boys kneeling against the farm fence were astounded at something as we looked in the pigpen—and then looked at each other, like the wino—amazed at something.

Mike's father kept looking at us boys off and on wondering what we saw: a frown came over his face and we boys were just laughing hilariously; laughing without talking, as bad as with the wino.

“Let me in on the secret, —the joke boys?” his father said to both us boys, and we looked at one another than at his father, then at one another again, then back at the big pig laying sprawled out on the ground, half asleep, a male pig. Mike then checking out me for the umpteenth time,

“Come on boys,” the father said, with a curious look.

“Ok, are you sure you want to know?” hilariously, asked Mike, trying to hold back his laughing—lest his father think the joke was on him, and me looking the other way so as not to make Mike laugh any harder so he could speak,

“But I don't want mom to hear,” says Mike to his father. And he whispered in his father's ear as Mike's mother stepped back and shook her head as if we were all nuts (I think she knew).

“Pop,” he said, “Lee and I have never seen such huge—you know whats before on, on, on anything before….”

And we just couldn't get over it, we busted out laughing until our guts pained. His father started laughing more at us boys than at the sleeping pig, shaking his head, looking at his wife, and the mother shook her head again, said with her squeaky voice,

“I'll fine out later…not sure if I want to”; and then looked at the pig as not to spoil the moment for us, the gang now. And we all rested against the gray dried up wooden fence gazing and gazing—as if into wonderland.

Said the father after several more minutes,

“Can I pull you boys away from here?”

“Oh sure,” said Mike, with both our eyebrows up in the air, and taking our last hard look at the humongous—you know what's.

Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk.tripod.com