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In my area of the world, the tree ticks have been thriving in recent years. It is not a nice sight to find one of those unclean buggers in your kid’s hair.
Or in one case under my armpit, my wife leaped right out of bed at that sight. While growing up on a farm, we had the kind of ticks that fed on the sheep in abundance. Which reminds me of a story I was told of my dad when he was a young lad.
We’ll call his name Pete to save my dad from further embarrassment and for my telling of the story.
Show-And-Tell Ticks' Day of Reckoning : "Ticked" Clean But Funny Short Story
Humour Short Stories
In the spring, sheep sheering is a yearly event with sheep farmers on the prairies. As the story goes, there was a show-and-tell at school and Pete had nothing to show or tell the class that would be of any interest to the other young minds. When shearing day came, he found his idea for show-and-tell as the large ticks started to emerge from the wool of the sheep. It would be the best show-and-tell!
It would be very interesting, creepy, and disgusting, perfect indeed! Into the brown paper bag went a lump of wool with lots of ticks on it so they could be easily seen by all who peered into the bag. The next morning, it was off to school for Pete with the brown paper in one hand and lunch pail in the other.
As the class settled into their seats, Pete grinned with anticipation of getting to show off his most recent collection of ticks. The teacher called each student one by one to the front to present their show- and-tell item to the class. Then it was Pete’s turn, off he went to the front with his bag. “What to you have in the bag, Pete?” asked Mrs. Gross in her soft sweet voice.
“Well, I have a tick colony in this here bag…from sheep,” said Pete proudly. With a look of surprise mixed with horror, Mrs. Gross’s quickly interrupted, “That’s ah…nice…ah, I think it would be wise if you would sit down now, Pete.” “Awww, can’t I show everybody the goods in the bag?” asked Pete. A flat, “No!” came back from Mrs. Gross. What a major disappointment! Pete sullenly made his way back to his desk. As he sat down, Joe the very spoiled kid who sat directly in front of Pete, hissed in a whisper, “Nice show-and-tell, Tick Boy.” Well, that was the final straw!
Rich boy Joe had pulled Pete’s chain for the last time. Pete’s thought of retaliation boiled as his hand darted into the brown paper bag. But on second thought… maybe not…, his recent strapping by the tall and mean, one armed principal, Mr. Hotwhip, was still fresh in his mind. Pete’s hand with drew from the bag. Maybe he could pretend to put the ticks in Rich Joe’s hair. Yes, that was the answer! It would give Rich Joe a good scare, and yet it wouldn’t get the wrath of Mrs. Gross stirred.
So Pete, making very sure there was not a tick to be found in his hand, leaned over his desk and gave Rich Joe’s hair a gentle yet noticeable pull. Rich Joe whipped his head around, “What’s your problem, Tick Boy?“ “Oh, nothing… But how do you like the blood sucking ticks in your hair?” answered Pete. At that, horror filled Rich Joe’s face. He leapt to his feet, raced across the room, yanked the door open, and ran through the playground at a neck breaking speed. His arms flailing at his head and hair as he made his way home. As he went, he kept screaming, “Pete put ticks in my hair…ahhh!” “Wow!“ thought Pete, “That was the best show-and-tell for sure.” The class erupted with laughter, and at the same time Mrs. Gross erupted with fury. “PETE, TO THE OFFICE!” she boomed silencing the laughs at once.
Pete tried to protest, but she would not beckon to reason. “Tell it to the principal,” is all she would say, her finger pointing to the door.
At the office face to face with the meanest face in the educational institution, Mr. Hotwhip spoke, “Mr. Mast, why do I find your face in here again so soon after your last visit?” Pete tried to protest and explain that he did not really put ticks in Rich Joe’s hair once again, but to no avail. Mr. Hotwhip reached into his desk and came out with a former piece of a razor strap. “Put out your hand, Mr. Mast,” he said glaring. Pete’s thoughts raced remembering the pain of the strap. Mr. Hotwhip had only one arm due to a sawmill accident that left him with only one arm a year earlier. The common practice was to put out the palm of your hand while the principal held onto your arm to keep your hand still. Then the principal would administer the lashes while holding the strap in other hand.
Due to Mr. Hotwhip”s missing arm, he could not hang onto the child‘s arm to keep it still. Gingerly, Pete put out his hand. He dare not disobey. Then down came the strap. Without even thinking, Pete pulled his hand away to safety, out of the path of the strap. With a yelp, the strap smacked hard against Mr. Hotwhip’s thigh. “MAAAST!” came a roar out Mr. Hotwhip’s mouth. “You’d better not move your hand again, Mast, or else”. Pete calmly tried to explain that he didn’t mean to move his hand, it just kinda of moved unexpectedly on its own. But that just seemed to make Mr. Hotwhip’s face redder, matching the natural hair color more closely.
A second time, the strap came down. This time with a noticeable speed increase, again Pete’s hand moved reflexively. Adding to the theory that the hand is quicker than the eye, Mr. Hotwhip yelped again with a jolt of anguish and a long ahhhhh. Without a word Mr. Hotwhip left the room. Pete, hoping this was a sign of defeat was greatly disappointed when he returned with the secretary close behind him a moment later . This time she would hold the arm.
The next day Pete took his seat and waited for class to begin. A student walked in the door of the class room. It appeared to be a new student, but wait… that was Rich Joe, bald as a vulture, moving in Pete’s direction. Apparently Rich Joe did believe there really were ticks placed in his hair. In an attempt to eradicate the ticks, his parents had shaved him bald. With his face two inches from Pete‘s nose, Rich Joe said, “See you at lunch time by monkey bars, Tick Boy!”
By Nakia Mast
