Hey now ya’ll. This ole Whistle Brithces talkin to ye. It’s just about Thanksgiving time.. I really like iss time uh thuh year from right about now til just pass Christmas on to New Year’s. Dat done mean Whistle Britches gonna sho nuff eat good fer a while. I know I’m a fixing to eat real good Thanksgiving cause I’m a always gets to go over to Miss Betty’s for Thanksgiving don’t chee know.
Miss Betty is one nem here cooks that cooks so dad blamed good that ifn she was to holler off and spit in sumpin she’s a cookin, it’s gonna taste even gooder.
I gits me to go eat over her house every holiday. I could eat tere ever day ifn I wanted to. She done kinda looked at me as if I am one her boys.
I’s always knowed Miss Betty and her family since I’s a little ole boy going to grade school up on the hill. Miss Betty got five kids. She got two boys. Days the oldest and she got three girls.
I kinda liked dem girls but they didn’t like me too much none. They’s always telling me I acted to stuck up cause I lived up town. I thank the only reason they done liked me atall was because when we’s in school. I had my own truck yi know. I used to give em a ride sometime.
We all knowed each other cause me and my family all went to Mr. Clyde’s Church over at Gum Tree. He can show preach now, you hear. He can preach himself up a good time. Don’t tell him I told you but he can go a little long sometime.
Both day boys was pretty fair country basketball players. All the girls done played in the band.
I been going to Miss Betty’s ta eat long as I can member. Anytime she’d see me uptown she holler at me and say, “Whistle Britches, I’m making fried chicken, collard greens, potato salad, corn bread for supper. You come on if you want to. We might even make some homemade ice cream for the apple pie.”
I’d holler back, “Yes ma’am. Thank ye. What time?”
On Thanksgiving when she done know I’m a coming to eat, she’d make the biggest nanner puddn you don ever seen I your liiiiife. One time she done sprised me. She had an extra puddn hid fer me so I could take it home wi me.
All Miss Betty’s family done worked real hard. Miss Betty worked up town at one nem factories where they done made britches. She done told me that anytime I’m a wanting a job, all I gots to do is just come up ere and tell em she done ass me to and they’ll put tis ole boy to work.
Besides being a preacher at the Gum Tree Church, Mr. Clyde done worked over to the hospital. He’s done been the janitor over there all my liiife. People loves em some Mr. Clyde. Say he’s the nicest feller they done ever know’d. Sides at, dey say he keep a floor looking so clean and purty, yins can eat offn it.
Only a few more days and I’ll gets to pull my chair up to the table at Miss Betty’s like I’m one uh her own. When I do, I know my eyes are gonna get bigger than my stomach.
She gonna have done set on the table dem home made rolls and apple butter. They’s gonna be the best macaroni and cheese you done ever et. She’s gonna have mashed taters and baked sweet taters with pineapple and little marshmellers on top.
She’s gonna have fried corn, butter beans, green beans, sliced maters, turkey and dressing with dat giblet gravy, cranberry sauce, and the dang bestest iced tea you done ever tasted. My Jesus Miss Betty can cook. Some people say her cookin is so good make you want to smack yi mammy.
When ever body done sit down at the table deys all looks happier than old wider women on the first uh the month when they scovers they got a few extree dollars on they check. Iss a happy time and I am sho nuff thankful to sit down and eat at Miss Betty’s Table.
Fars I can tell, theres only one problem with goin to Miss Betty’s to eat. When all that good food is setting out on the table all good and hot and you can’t wait to get into it, Mr. Clyde come a hollerin, “Bow ye heads.”
Then he go in pray one them prayers with your head bowed so long ye get a crick in your neck hoping he will hurry up. Aw, Ima telling you, he pray like he aint never goin get to pray no mo.
Iss alriiight doe. If I got to eat like this all the time, I probably take awhile thanking the good lord myself. This ole Whistle Britches ya’ll. Yins all have yeselves a niiiice Thanksgiving, hear.
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