Hot Butter Beans!

As children we had an old school up bringing. We did not have the predators and threats that parents are today leery of. All the neighborhood parents had hand in raising all the kids in their view, from dinners to beatings; they were all in it together.

The summer months were the “funner” months as we called them. Out of the house in the late morning hours with the expectation that we would be home by dinner. After dinner we were out until the street lights came on, pardons and exceptions were very conditional; some one’s parents had to be watching us.

The “street light game” of choice was “Hot Butter Beans”. A game I am sure that was invented by a parent who decided it was best to let the kids whoop themselves for a while and take a break. Hot Butter Beans is a mix of tag and hide and go seek. Only it’s backwards. All the kids go the base (Usually Tony Cook’s porch) and count while one person hides a nice sturdy thin leather belt.

Once the count is reached everyone races off to find the belt. The lucky finder gets to snatch the belt up and whoop everyone’s screaming ass back to the base! Fun to be had by all, unless you’re Tony Cook. He always hosted the game with his Mom (Miss Geneva) watching and laughing as she sat on the phone explaining to the parents what their kids would look like once they returned home for the evening.

Now Tony was fat, but startling fast for the lumbering clod he was taken to be. So fast that he rivaled the best in a sprint. So fast that he took his speed for granted this final evening before the fall school evening routine was scheduled to start for us all.

This last evening of street light freedom was again a Hot Butter Beans night hosted by Tony and Miss Geneva. Round and round it went before the welts filled with sweat and we decided to succumb the summer to home work and evening routines when Good Ol Tony Boy insists on one more round. Duke Farley (arguably faster than Tony - definitely faster than me) found the belt that was hidden by my cousin PJ around the corner in an alley. Hearing the commotion and Duke laughing I knew it was time for me to either get back or take yet another ass whooping that would entail all portions of my now tender and stinging body except my ass. I scurry off leaping from the street to the porch hoping to save my hide this one last time. Safe and sound I hear laughter and screams from the dark alley - be damned if I was going to go and look. Then CRACK - AAAAHHHH! A nice clean strap on a nice sweaty back, immediately followed by Duke’s laughter. (It’s a combination of sounds one tends to not forget). PJ was laughing so hard he could barely make it to the porch. More cracks and screams and we realize Tony is trapped behind a car and taking a serious whoopin. It is well worth the risk to investigate such atrocities of luck when you are not the unfortunate victim.

Poor Tony, his chunky ass got stuck trying to squeeze between a car and the side of a building and Duke was as relentless in his laughter as he was the bad intentions behind every swing of the belt. Tony was taking it like a man (blood curdling screams aside of course) when he broke free. His plan then was to rely on his speed in order to forgo further punishment. Note* I said “Arguably faster” because this eventful Hot Butter Beans night; he was not. Tony in full sprint was steadily being stalked down by the still laughing Duke. He looked over his shoulder only to see Dukes snarling smile and right hand pulling the belt into attack position yet again. No crack yet, but definitely a scream! Tony was past MAN mode and straight turned bitch before our very eyes. The crack this time was followed not by a scream but by an all out wail for mercy - the one thing no of us possessed. And very predicably; Tony got none. CRACK, CRACK, CRACK as Tony rounded the corner.

There were too problems, he was going too fast and forgot about the van parked in front of Stan’s house. Rounding the corner the battered, beaten and now crying Tony slips and slides straight into the only thing capable of stopping a kid of his size; the back of the van. And he hit it HARD! So hard he knocked the back window out. Stopped and stunned he falls to street only to find the unyielding attack to still be in full swing. CRACK after CRACK after CRACK as Tony cried and crawled his way to the porch with Duke whaling away until his hand touched the wood of safety.

We all know better than to laugh at those less fortunate. And these are the times that you learn such lessons. We were all so entranced by the whoopin taking place that we failed to realize we had formed a semi-circle putting the now possessed whip master between us and our only means to safety - until he turned around anyway. His eyes bloodshot, gapped, sneering toothy smile, frothy mouthy mouth; all more reminiscent of a demon than a life long friend.

We were all frozen knowing that first to move would be chased - no one was about to take that sort of ass whoppin for the team. It was each for their own and I stood as both the youngest and smallest; therefore, the most likely victim. Standing beside me was Joseph Ramirez (Emu as we called him). Tall, lanky but not yet caught up with his body in terms of coordination - my easy victim. I shoved him forward kicking his legs out from under him as I run past him hoping Duke would take my sacrificial clutz as easy prey rather than trying to chase me down. In full sprint, not so much looking to ensure he fell, I was off! CRACK - AHHH! He took the bait and my dumb ass was running the wrong way! Another brutal beating had commenced and only two people made it to safety before Emu got himself out of the belted clutches of Duke. Mark, PJ, myself and Emu’s brother Antonio were still in grave danger of what had become an emotionally deranged Duke. No ass whoopin had ever been like this; now two in one night (I had a big problem on my little hands).

No one wanted to be closest to Duke as we all backed further and further away. Antonio was not to be trusted after what I had just done to his little brother and I had dedicated my life to tormenting my older cousins; suddenly I was so all alone, shirtless and sweating on this muggy night - this last Friday night before school was to start; and I was about to take a serious ass whoopin.

Figuring that an all out sprint past this manic would only subject me to one lash it was worth the try. And sprint I did, eyeing him to try to time the swing so I could jump and take it on the ass vice the back. A sound plan, a logical plan... a terrible plan considering he anticipated my jumping. (I always jumped; my aunt would go to whoop me, I would jump. Playing dodge ball, I would jump. Trying to escape some one’s mean ass dog, I would jump. Hell, if I saw a damn worm on the side walk I would have probably jumped. Jumping is what I did as a kid). Run, leap CRACK - AHHHH! In mid air it felt like my back split open and any chance I had at a upright landing onto the porch was derailed but the instant loss of body control due the electric shock like intensity of the belt that made me all but lose bladder and bowel control. CRACK - AHHHH - CRASH onto the porch and straight through the screen door and into Tony’s livingroom only to be met by a VERY PISSED OFF Miss Geneva. And of course she too now had a belt in her hand and was about to bring the night’s festivities to an abrupt end.

Narrow ass Terry was not about to be the first! Springing and screaming back up to my feet and back out the door “She’s got a belt! She’s got a belt!” at the top of my lungs as I hit the porch. It was like surprising cockroaches. Everyone knew good and well who had the belt and no one wanted anything to do with it. We disbursed without question to our respective homes and were more than satisfied ending our summer with one less ass whoppin to show for it.

Hot Butter Beans ended that night. Duke having tasted blood for the first was never the same again, but the summer was left to a weekend of favoring welts in the shower. It ended up being a very good school year for us all!

-T