Did you ever open a persimmon seed to see if it had a knife, fork or spoon in it? I forgot to do this the other day when I was takin’ a handful up to see my mom.
You know she is in the nursin’ home and has been for quite a spell. She may be down in the get-a-longs, but that thinkin’ department is still hittin’ on all six.
I’ve heard it around that you ain’t supposed to slip goodies to the folks up there—something about diet or some such thing.
I wonder how many calories a handful of persimmons are packin’ and how much fat and cholesterol? I also wonder how old the dietitian is.
My mother is around 88 years old and she’s been eatin’ persimmons and pawpaws all her life. I’ll bet me or the dietitian neither one will make it that long.
It’s kinda like an ol’ man I met in a waterhole in Red Bud, Ill. one time. He was slick bald headed and had a long snow white beard.
I noticed that he was drinkin’ warm beer and washin’ it down with red wine. I asked him if he wasn’t afraid that mixture would kill him.
He said it hadn’t in the past 84 years. What could I say?
I may be the one in jeopardy. I don’t think the persimmons, beer or red wine will hurt you. If I caught carryin’ that ‘possum fruit in that nursin’ home, who knows what will happen?
It may be like pushin’ dope. I can see it all now—the state troopers, the feds and local law will have a road block up at the nursin’ home entrance.
When I pull in they will seize my car, back me up against the wall and frisk me down. A plastic ziptop bag containin’ five ripe persimmons will be smashed flat and held for evidence.
I wonder how much time a feller can get for pushin’ persimmons?
Can’t you just hear the judge say, “Do you have anything to say before the jailer takes you away?”
I’d say, “One thing, your Honor, would you mind taking your jackknife and openin’ one of the seeds to see if it has a knife, fork or spoon?”
Courtesy of Tom Runnels Publications. Copyrighted and Registered by Tom Runnels and Saundra Runnels Revocable Trust. Printed in The Banner Press: Dec. 14, 1989.