Young Milton dreads going back to school tomorrow after a wonderful two weeks off for Christmas break.
Milton G. Eddeston here. The one kids call "Pig-Boy".
I live in Ames, Iowa, with my parents, Bob and Carole, who are pig farmers, and my little brother, Haney, who is only nine (and autistic).
Sorry for not writing in here, but I have been workin' the farm (not much free time when one lives on a farm, like we do), and even on a day like Christmas, we don't really take time off. There's too much responsibility involved.
The weather here has been bitter cold. In fact, two of our sows froze to death; it dipped down into the negative zero range, and the heater conked out. We've since gotten it fixed, but it took a huge chunk out of their savings, so they could get it repaired.
Needless to say, our Christmas this year was pretty skimpy, compared to this time last year. The conked-out heater didn't help, as didn't the frozen sows.
I also had to put up with Haney. He's still acting all autistic, and it drives me crazy! If I see him stimming his hands again, I am going to break them; I can't STAND it when he does that!! He looks so retarded and stupid!!
He was a brat on Christmas break. I was more than ready to have mom and dad ship him off to Siberia!!
One good thing, though, about being on Christmas break: I didn't have to put up with the other kids making fun of me.
It was nice to get through a stretch of days without the other kids making pig noises or saying how I stink like pig or how bad my face looks. Well, I can't help it about my face: I was born with Apert's, and I've had some surgeries to make me look more presentable to the world; if they can't get past that, then the hell with 'em all already! I've had it!!!!
Tomorrow, though, the grind starts back up. Yep. Back to school, which means I have to get up at two, just to get my mornin' chores done before the bus comes at seven-thirty.
Well, I gotta get the food for the piggies, so I'd best run along, before mommie-dearest catches me writin' on my laptop again. She says I need to get back to my duties and stop writing so danged much! Take care and God bless! I will write in here again soon; 'bye!
Wonderful write Karen and I certainly enjoyed this one since my whole family were in the farming business and I've seen their trials and the love too. Love and hugs, Bonnie
A farmer's life is dependant on so many variables: if one tiny thing is off, the farm suffers, as does those running it. Combine that with recession, disabled brothers and bullying kids, it's even worse. Excellent, Karen.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Reviewed by Flying Fox Ted L Glines
1/4/2009
Ah, this one takes me back to my own childhood on the farm. Nope, no one called me names at school, because our whole area was either farms or fishing. Everybody worked dawn to dusk (at least). Artichokes, brussel sprouts, pigs, chickens, and cows. Everyone was raising a cash crop of some kind, or they were deep-sea fishing. It was hard work and, like the boy says, there were no days off. The lack of understanding for autism is natural and very rural, even today. A kid with physical or mental deficits has a hard way to go in many "modern" rural areas. Education is part of the problem, certainly, but rural people tend to have a survival-of-the-fittest attitude which filters out much of compassionate education. Good piece, Karen :-)
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