Sunday, June 7, 2009

Dancing on graves

When I was a young man I lived in small town Louisiana. Our house was by a highway. Next to the house was a small field. On the other end of the field was a small graveyard, also by the highway. This graveyard would simultaneously disturb me and not bother me what so ever. My sisters and friends and I would sneak over to it like it was some sort of mystical off limits weird place, and peer through the chain-link fence. What an ominous place.

One night when I was a teenager, a few friends and I had been drinking a bit and decided to go pay our respects to the random dead people at the graveyard. It all started off harmless enough. If I recall correctly, we were debating if it was actually a bad thing to walk on someones grave. And to display to us how much he didn't care- and of course to get a rise out of us- one of my friends started to dance on one of the graves. Up and down, slinging about, doing a lazy jumping jack sort of a thing, he wore a large proud smile as you heard his giggles and the clacking and grinding rocks being kicked and strewn about, from the very nice rock bed over the grave. Some of the rocks where flying out of the partition and onto the well manicured grass. We couldn't help but to laugh too. You know the kind of laugh I'm talking about. But we also knew we had to end this horrible charade. I don't remember which of us pushed him off first. That's right, I said first. He did it numerous times again as we pulled and pushed and laughed and yelled, "come on dude seriously stop!" We didn't care so much, morally, about disrespecting the dead person, I think the biggest concern (especially for me) was that someone was going to see evidence that someone had danced on there loved one's grave. I was also imagining the next day my father being pulled away from watching his cherished TV show, Dr Who, to have to deal with someone asking him if his children had danced on their mothers grave. My friend quickly realized he had milked as much out of it as was possible, and we began to clean up the evidence. We left with our heads hung low.

My dad never got a visit.

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