Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: CALL (01/14/16)
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TITLE: The Clang of the Bell | Previous Challenge Entry
By Karen Dick
01/21/16 -
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“Isn’t that your cow bell ringing?” Susie curiously inquired.
“What, I didn’t hear anything,” I lied under my breath.
The deep ringing sounded once again, this time with more force and intensity.
“I’m pretty sure that’s your cow bell. Won’t your mom be mad if you don’t go home?” asked Susie with concern.
“Yea,” I replied quietly as I dropped the dice and slowly got onto my bike to go the block and a half home. Mother had instructed me to play with Susie outside in order to hear the call to go home. Well, I did, and now here I am leaving to the dreaded sound of the clang, clang, clang!
My mother could not call us home as other mothers did. The neighbor’s mother across the street used a system of yelling with her voice. If that didn’t work, she would send her oldest son out to round up his four siblings. He would lead them home in a Pied Piper sort of manner. It seemed to work, and I could not understand why my mother could not adopt such a system. I had also been a witness to other mothers calling on the telephone. That seemed like an appropriate way to me.
But no, here I was twelve years old and called home for dinner by a cow bell just like a regular cow. It was humiliating. When I was a kid, it was not a big deal, and even seemed unique and novel. However, in a year I was going to become a teenager, and a cow bell echoing throughout the neighborhood, I was sure, classified my family as suburban hillbillies.
As I pulled up into the front yard, I hopped off of my blue Schwinn bike and leaned it against the house as my sister continued to clang the cow bell from the front porch.
“I’m here you can stop now!” I shouted to her.
Her long red hair flew into her face as she shook her head at me and said, “It’s my turn to ring it and I don’t want to stop! Besides, everyone isn’t home yet.”
I stormed into the house and the smell of fried chicken shocked my nostrils and immediately helped to calm my mood. Walter Cronkite’s voice came from our black and white TV directly in front of my father in the front room. He was relaxed on the blue flowered sofa behind the newspaper and didn’t seem to notice my sudden entrance. Since he was engrossed and focused on the important news of the day, I hurried on into the kitchen where my mother was at the sink peeling potatoes.
“I’m glad you’re here, you can set the table,” she said with her back to me.
Pulling the silverware out of the drawer I stifled my desire to complain about being taken away from my friend by an obnoxious cow bell. I approached the large kitchen table and wished someone would remove that brass clanging bell from my sister. She did not realize the humiliation she was causing her older sister. One day I hoped she would understand when she was more mature like me.
One by one my three brothers straggled into the house. We gathered around the kitchen table and took our seats in the plastic orange chairs. My father took his seat at the head as my mother placed a large platter of crispy brown chicken in front of him. My stomach growled as I watched a slab of melting butter slowly trickling down the side of the fluffy white mashed potatoes in front of me.
Holding hands, we bowed our heads as Dad said grace. As he finished, I looked up at my four siblings and parents. The irritation at the calling of the cow bell was beginning to melt away. Even though it was a loud and obnoxious instrument to call us home, we were all there as a family and I was grateful that I was one of them.
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