Guest blogger, Joyce-
My upbringing was pretty typical for the south in the sixties. My parents worked hard. My father worked night-shift at a paper mill while mamma took care of things at home. Mamma was a Christian woman with a kind heart and a stern hand. She never missed a prayer meeting on Sunday and was always first in line to help a friend in need. All in all, she was a classy gal.
I came home from school one day and found her, as usual, in the kitchen. My best friend, Judy, was with me. Mamma was stirring a pot on the stove, “You girls be really quiet.” she said. “I don’t want you waking up your daddy. He hasn’t slept well the last couple of days and when he came home from work this morning he was so horny.”
“What?” I asked, not believing my ears.
“He was. I’m not kiddin’. I said, Murphy you’re gonna have to stop this but he was so horny he wouldn’t even listen to me,” she said.
Judy’s eyes were as big as saucers and I was at a loss for words. I couldn’t fathom my mother speaking of such a thing. It wasn’t proper.
“Mamma," I asked. "Do you know what horny means?”
“Of course I do. It means stubborn and bull-headed.”
“No.” I told her. “It doesn’t mean that at all.” I delicately explained the accepted definition and it was met with a harsh rebuttal.
“It does NOT mean that!” she barked. “They wouldn’t have a word for that!”
She completely disregarded what I had told her. It was, I guess, unfathomable and so she continued to use the word incorrectly.
Years later we were in the grocery store when we ran into, Mrs. Peterson, one of her friends from church. Mrs. Peterson was a sharp lady who still drove herself to church every week despite being well into her eighties.
“We missed Murphy today in Sunday school.” She told mamma.
Mamma put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “I tell you what, I don’t know what I’m gonna do with that man. I tried like everything to get him up this morning but he was so horny I just left him in the bed.”
Mrs. Peterson raised one eyebrow and smiled ever slow slightly. “See you next week,” she said as she shuffled away.
“She wasn’t very talkative,” mamma remarked as we continued down the aisle.
“She didn’t know what to say, because you made her uncomfortable! You can’t use that word anymore. It means something ugly!” I told her.
She responded with a “Hmmph,” but there was no argument to follow. I could tell by the look on her face that she finally understood.
It had taken many years and one awkward encounter with a church member for her to get it, but it had finally sunk in. From that day on the status of my father’s horniness remained behind closed doors, where it should be.
