Short Stories From 10 Years Ago – January 24, 2004
Longboon – Wyboon & Dumboy
Short Stories From 10 Years Ago – January 24, 2004 – My two brothers and I were very close in age. It sometimes makes me wonder how my mother was able to keep her sanity intact. She was 39 when my oldest brother Eric, her first-born made his entrance into the world in 1946 – really quite unheard of at the time. My brother Michael was born in 1948 and I arrived in 1949.
My parents didn’t have a lot of money. My father worked two jobs to make ends meet and my mother ran a small antique business from our home. There wasn’t much money for toys. We each had a special ‘Teddy’. Actually Eric and I had a teddy. Mike had a monkey. As we got older my brothers had second-hand bicycles and I had a tricycle, that my dad fixed up and painted.
We had the typical trucks, dolls, balls and stuffed animals – but they were usually second hand. That didn’t make them any less cherished.
As little tykes – we spent a lot of time with our mother and she was forever going through old boxes of ‘stuff’ for her antique business – that she bought at auction sales. During one such exercise, we came across a bunch of old spoons tied together with some twine. What a find for three pre-school age kiddies.
I was half past two at the time and just getting comfortable with the fine art of conversation. Spoon was too much for me, it must have been the ‘sp’ – so spoon became ‘boon’. It just so happened, that within this treasure trove of discarded spoons, there were three that captivated us.
Eric was attracted to a very long, delicate silver spoon, mine was a rather wide spoon and Mike’s was a silver spoon with an intricate little drummer boy at the end of the handle. If truth be known, Eric and I secretly lusted after Mike’s prize. Thereafter, with my limited vocabulary Eric’s spoon became longboon, mine was wyboon and Mike’s became dumboy.
I think my mother realized, very early on, the potential for sibling rivalry over the much sought after ‘dumboy’ – so even though it was technically Mike’s spoon, she devised a method for sharing dumboy that worked amazingly well.
My father left for work at 7:30 in the morning. My mother would see him out the door, with lunch bucket in hand, and then proceed with the task of feeding her brood. We all had favourite cereals. Eric loved ‘shreddies’. Mike demanded ‘cornflakes’, and my allegiance was to ‘Rice Crispies’. Even at two, I recognized the innate value of snap, crackle and pop.
Now came the highlight of our morning. My mother put our three spoons in a glass, handle down, and we all had to close our eyes and pick one. When the last spoon had been selected we got to open our eyes, and discover our ‘treasure for the day’.
I have such vivid, happy recollections of the table banging and shrieks of delight that followed when one of us would announce triumphantly – “I got dumboy … I got dumboy”. Sometimes, I wonder if mom secretly allocated the spoons so it seemed fair and equitable to us. Funny, as an adult I never thought to ask her. Somehow, I think she ‘let the chips fall where they may’, and that’s probably why we learned to share those funny little spoons without bitterness or disappointment.
I look at all the toys that are lavished on children today, and it seems almost inconceivable to think that 3 antique silver spoons brought so much joy into our lives. At the same time, it taught us a valuable lesson about the fine art of sharing. We outgrew the competition for the spoons within a couple of years – but I remember, even as teenagers, every once in awhile one of us would gleefully announce – “I got dumboy”
Times change, and at some point longboon, wyboon and dumboy were forgotten, perhaps put in a box and sent off to an auction sale. Now, all these years later, I’m grateful that I remember this simple morning ritual so vividly.
My parents and Mike are gone. My Mother to a stroke related to Alzheimer’s Disease – my Father to cancer and dear, swet MIke killed by a drunk driver. Eric and I still fondly recall those three little spoons, and the anticipation we felt every morning at breakfast. What a charming memory, and one of these days I’m going to call Eric and shriek – “Guess what – I got dumboy”.
