NOW REPEAT AFTER ME

May 20, 2026

by Rusty W. Mitchum

If a man’s home is his castle, then a boy’s room is his. I know my room was. My room was also a museum. It contained all sorts of junk includin’ feathers, wasp nests, and my special collection of road killed, flatter than a pancake, sun dried toad frogs. These were also known as toad jerky. They would stack fairly well and just the thought of them would keep my sister out of my room. As you might have guessed, my room was not what you would call orderly. Oh, I kept it clean; Momma made sure of that. My stuff was never put in any sort of order, but I always knew where everything was.

“I don’t know how you find anything in that closet,” my momma would say. “Everything is just thrown in there.” She was right. I’d just throw junk in there. I kept a long stick by the closet door and if I ever needed anything, I’d just poke it in the closet and stir it around. When I’d see whatever it was I needed come to the top, I’d grab it. It was a pretty good system, if I do say so myself.

The only problem with my room was that, with all of the junk I had, there was no room to play. My cousin Coy, on the other hand, had the ideal room. His house had a basement and his parents had moved him and his big brother Royce down there. They each had a big room plus a big area that was used as a game room. We could make almost as much noise as we wanted and not bring the wrath of a parent down on us.

One night, Coy and I were in the game room tryin’ to figure out what to do to occupy ourselves. We had just finished a gruelin’ game of Blind Man’s Pool; this was a game we had made up ourselves, as were most of the games we played. To play Blind Man’s Pool, we would chalk up our pool cues, stand on either side of the pool table blindfolded, and proceed to poke as many pool balls into the pockets as possible without gettin’ poked ourselves. The winner was the one who had the most balls in the other side’s pockets and with the least amount of chalk marks on his body. Coy hand won this particular night.

“What are we goin’ to do now?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Coy answered. “By the way, how’s the eye?”

“I think it will be okay if I can just get the chalk out of it. Hey, I know! Let’s go outside.”

“Okay,” Coy said. “Let me go ask Mom.” This was somethin’ we as kids were required to do; ask permission.

When Coy came back down from upstairs, I could tell by the look on his face the answer had been no. “She said it is too cold and for us just to play down here. Man, it’s too bad we couldn’t make Mom think we were down here playin’ and just go out for a little while.”

I thought for a second. “Why can’t we,” I said.

“How are you gonna do that, Mr. Wizard?”

“Easy,” I said. “Let’s go get Royce’s tape recorder and I’ll show you.”

Like I said, Royce was Coy’s older brother. He was out on a date and we knew he wouldn’t be back for awhile, so we borrowed his big reel to reel tape recorder.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s record ourselves playin’ for about an hour, and then we’ll rewind it, put it on play, and Aunt Christine will hear what she thinks is us playin’. Then we’ll go outside and have some real fun.”

“You know,” said Coy, “this might be the best idea you’ve ever had.”

Well, we played pool, wrestled, played ping-pong, all the while recordin’ ourselves. After about an hour, we rewound the tape and put it on play. Coy set the volume to what we thought was right and then we left.

While we were outside playin’, Aunt Christine started feelin’ bad about makin’ us stay inside, so she decided that since we were bein’ so good and playin nicely downstairs, she would make us some cookies.

“Boys, I’ve got a surprise for you,” I can imagine her sayin’. “How would you like some cooki…..,” and then she would have seen the tape recorder.

Coy and I were down past my house throwin’ rocks at some bats as they swooped under a guard light in front of Mr. Dozier’s house when we heard my father call.

“Rusty! Coy!”

“Yes, sir!” We answered and ran up to see what he wanted.

“Coy, your mother just called wantin’ you,” he said. Coy and I looked at each other and swallowed hard. “She said somethin’ about y’all leavin’ the recorder on. Coy, she said for you to head on home.”

Coy looked at his feet. “Yes, sir,” he said, and then looked up at me. “You comin’?”

“Uh…naw….I think I’ll just stay home.”

“Chicken,” he said.

“I’d rather be a live chicken than a dead duck,” I said, and Coy turned and left. He turned back and looked at me several times before he faded off in the darkness.

“What was that all about?” asked my dad.

“Oh, nothin’,” I answered. “Hey, Daddy, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. Aunt Christine didn’t say anything about me, did she?”

“No,” he replied.

“Good..uh…I mean…uh…Boy howdy, it’s gettin’ late. I think I’ll go in and hit the hay.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “Let’s call Christine up and find out what happened. That is, unless you want to tell me.”

“Uh….that’s okay. I guess I’ll tell you. Ha, ha, it’s really kinda funny, ha ha. You know how Coy is always wantin’ to sneak out, ha, ha.” Then I swallowed hard. “Well, he finally figured out a way.”

Coy and I, neither one, was able to sit down for a week.

You know, nobody appreciates pure genius.