I'm a pistol

 A digression before I get started-

My Aunt (by marriage) Jeannie's brother is named John.  Is there a word for that relationship?  He's not my uncle, not my cousin.  I guess technically, he's my friend, but that doesn't seem right because he is part of my family.  Can someone get back to me on that?  Seriously, there has to be a word for it.  Anyway...

Not-my-uncle John reminded me that my godfather, and my mom's little brother, Uncle Herbie (married to Jeannie, now departed.  I mean, Jeannie is still with us.  Herbie has passed.) used to call me a pistol.  That's not a term you don't hear much in California, but in Texas, it's a thing.   My Aunt Ruth (Dad's sister, and my godmother) also called me a pistol.  This epithet was usually applied to me after I had done something precocious, or cute, or maybe a little naughty.  

When I was little, I used to tell tall tales.  It wasn't lying, really.  Not the kind of lying I did to avoid punishment.  These were tall tales that I would tell because I could see the adult I was telling them to seemed amused, and would laugh.  I wish I could remember some of them. The only thing I can remember is, in the middle of one story, (I think I said something about shooting somebody and they rolled into a lake) my aunt said, "Donita, I think you're feeding me a line of bull."  I said, "Yes, I shot the bull too and he rolled into the lake."  

I was a pistol.

There were times when I was growing up where I could be bold.  I wasn't a crazy, high-energy kid.  My older sister was, but I was the kind of kid who could sit in a corner for hours playing with my stuffed animals.  I didn't bounce off the walls.  I was quiet then.  Mostly.  But sometimes...

I wish I could remember more.  The boldness must have shown up when I was little, because I was called a pistol several times.  As I got older, my boldness showed up a bit more often.  I would say things: some inappropriate and embarrassing.  But when I got it right, people would laugh.

In junior high I was in one of those little shows that each English class would present in an assembly.  We did an adaptation of The Night the Bed Fell by James Thurber.  I played a kid who sang Onward Christian Soldiers in their sleep.  My teacher told me to sing it loudly, and as goofy as I could possibly make it.  Most girls that age would probably shy away from doing something that foolish out of fear of embarrassment.  Not me.  I belted that thing out loud and crazy.  I was offstage, but I could hear the audience's reaction. They laughed.

In high school I was involved in theater.  In those three years I had several more opportunities for goofy stage business.  In Oklahoma, I played Gertie Cummings, a girl with a loud, obnoxious laugh.  In L'il Abner I played Moonbeam McSwine, a girl who carries a pig whenever she's on stage (a real baby pig that often shit on the stage.  A diaper would have been a good idea).  I don't think I was aware then that I was cultivating my pistolness, but it was there whenever I got myself in front of an audience.

And then, decades later, I got into comedy.  Damn, that was fun.

When John reminded me that Herbie called me a pistol, it got me thinking.  And remembering.  And boy, it made me miss my Uncle Herbie, and my wonderful Aunt Ruth.  They were pistols too.  These days I'm going through a period of self discovery, and those early memories are giving me some insights into the person I am now.  Damn, I wish I could talk to Herbie and Ruth.  They loved me for  myself when I didn't know what that meant.

I love being a pistol.