The Red Flannel Rag

permission to hunt in the fall when squirrel season opened. I now had my own gun and

wouldn’t have to borrow a gun. I counted out what I thought to be thirty dollars and

gave it to Uncle Shirley. He handed over my new sixteen-gauge shotgun. I took the gun

home and was very proud that I had purchased it with my own money. A couple of days

later, I counted the small amount of money I had left in my savings. I was five dollars

short, and I knew immediately that I had given Uncle Shirley thirty-five dollars instead

of thirty.

The next time I saw him, I asked him if I had given him too much money. He

said in a very business- like tone, “Yes, you gave me thirty - five dollars.” “Well,” I said in

a quaking voice, “I would like to have the extra five dollars to put back in my savings.”

His answer was, “I’m sorry. I am not going to give your money back. From now on, you

will learn to be more careful when you spend your money.” That wa s a hard lesson since

I had earned that money by working as a painter at seventy-five cents an hour. But, I

learned the lesson very well. To this day, I count my money three times before I hand it

over when I buy something.

Uncle Jim favored my mother in appearance. He was short and round with a head

of black hair that remained with him throughout his life. He died fairly young; at age

sixty-eight, from a diabetes-related stroke. He taught me how to drive in his brand new

1957 ford. The first driving lesson he gave me, I wrecked his new car. A huge feed truck

met me on a hill. I overcompensated and scraped the whole side of the car into a big

rock. Uncle Jim took it very calmly saying, “It was the truck driver’s fault, he should have

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