Posted on by Phil Strawn

Finding My Voice Through Tall Tales and Truths


Over the years, I’ve spotlighted the storytelling skills of my two late Uncles, Jay and Bill. They remain in good standing and are the best liars and yarn spinners I have met. Each could have been as popular as Will Rogers, but they chose the farmhouse porch as their stage, shunning the spotlight and life as a celebrity.

Around the age of nine, I was convinced that the spirit of Mark Twain had somehow entered my body, and my destiny was one he had lived. My teacher, an older woman of little patience, was convinced that I was dropped on my head during infancy, which led to my outlandish literary behavior. She couldn’t see that I was destined to be a writer of some importance. Mathematics was a mystery I loathed, but I perked up when the curriculum came around to History and English. To me, everything became a story and originated from my grandparents’ farm, my extended street-rat crazy family, or neighborhood antics, and included made-up tales of ridiculous origins. Mrs. Badger, ever the suffering teacher, labeled me an insufferable pathological liar and called my mother in for the dreaded parental meeting, which included my school’s principal, who sat with a wicked wooden paddle in his lap, poised to administer punishment. Mother handled it well until we reached home. There was no butt whooping, but she did corner me in the kitchen, put her face nose to nose with mine and in a seething saliva spewing accusation said,

“You are one of them..my loathsome, worthless brothers have ruined you: I forbid you to associate with them, ever again.” She was right, they had, and I wore that tawdry badge proudly. All those nights sitting on the farmhouse front porch listening to their beer-infused tall tales, yarns, and lies formed me. I was spoiled, but happy goods. My family lacked the foresight needed to distinguish a liar from written fiction. My Aunt Norma, a tarnished angel, is the gal who taught me to read, write, and imagine. She understood my affliction.

Discover more from Notes From The Cactus Patch

Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.

13 Replies to “Finding My Voice Through Tall Tales and Truths”

    1. The banishment didn’t hold and I was able to be around my uncles. As I got older, the stories became more vivid, or maybe it was that their beer consumption increased.

      Like

  4. It’s a shame your teacher didn’t encourage you to use your wonderful imagination to write stories with a beginning, middle, and end. Not everyone can create another world like you. There’s calculators for math. 🙂

    Like

    1. She did not, but one of my teachers in high school did just that, encouraged me to write. She is the reason I took it to another level by learning to type. I was the only male in typing class, I took two years of it along with journalism and creative English, which was writing and prose in disguise. Mrs. Mischen was her name, and she passed last year. Many years ago, I had a chance to speak and thanked her for her influence and encouragement.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. God bless the teacher who saw your talent and encouraged you. It was kind and gracious of you to thank her for her support. That means so much to teachers. 😁

        Like

  5. Thank goodness for teachers who encourage instead of shame! I would get physically ill at the thought of stepping inside my algebra classroom. The affliction was so bad, for the sanity of all involved I was allowed to drop math and double up on English and History. When my English teacher declared “We will make a copywriter out of you yet!” was one of my happiest days in HS.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. They were both gone before I reached adulthood and began Chewing tobacco. I didn’t know you were supposed to spit. I was bad sick, and they got their butts handed to them by my grandmother.

      Liked by 1 person

Comments are closed.