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enjoy this writing from Janet Kuypers in the cc&d free 2016 PDF file chapbook: New Beginnings Firsts and the Future of new poetry, edited poetry & classic poems live 11/5/16 in an Austin Texas show W/ accompanying acoustic guitar Click the title or the cover to download the free PDF file chapbook. |
 
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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN#/ISBN# issue/book “Respect Our Existence or Expect Our Resistance” cc&d, v272 (the June 2017 issue - the 24 year anniversary issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:  |
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Order this writing in the issue book Nothing Lasts the cc&d May-August 2017 collection book |
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get the 4 page May-August 2017 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:
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Order this Janet Kuypers writing from her most recent poetry book series: (pheromemes) 2015-2017 show poems Order this 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound book today of poems written mid-2015 - mid-2017 that were performed during her poetry shows & performances in Austin, TX
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| Saving Fingers and Scooping Ice Cream
Janet Kuypers 1995 poem “Let’s Go” & May 2015 poem “Empty Chocolate Counter” edited for 11/5/16 show 10/24/16 One summer day in August, I was sixteen at the time, sister Sandy and I were in the house, it was an average Thursday, mom was out golfing, dad was at brother Bob’s form yard, doing something man-like, cutting wood or something. I was getting ready for a summer job interview that morning. The phone rings, I answer it, suddenly there’s this strange voice on the other line talking, asking, “Is your mother there?” and my first instinct was that it was dad’s friend Greg on the other line, he always liked to put on a fake voice and try to fool the kids. So I put on my most cordial voice and said, “No she’s not, may I take a message?” and then the voice starts going on about how he’s cut his finger and he has to go to the hospital, and then it finally occurs to me that it’s my father, and he was in so much pain that he could barely speak. So he hangs up the phone and Sandy and I try to call the golf course, hoping to catch mom, but she already left, and while we waited for her to come home dad came home to get us and bring us to the hospital with him. His hand was wrapped in a shirt, half-soaked in blood. Sandy got in the wagon, but she told me to wait at home for mom. So dad whipped the car out of the drive- way and down the road, And I stood in the driveway, suddenly alone, watching him drive away. I was so distraught, I started to cry, but I had to keep myself together, because I didn’t want to make it sound serious when I told mom and make her more nervous. I didn’t want her to cry, he cut his finger, he’d need stitches, but he wasn’t going to die. So I waited at the front window, and when I saw her car drive down the road I went to the garage. When she pulled in I hopped in the passenger side before she turned off the engine. “Come on, let’s go,” I said, with a smile on my face. I tried to preface the story with “Let me just say, that everything is fine,” but you just know when bad news is coming up. But I tried to make it sound funny, like dad the klutz cut his hand. I hope I did a good job. For eleven blocks I was the one that had to make sure that everything was okay, being reasonable when dad actually lost the tips of two fingers.... And it was an interesting excuse to explain why I was late for my first job interview. And I got the job at this iconic ice cream parlour - now, only boys were allowed to scoop ice cream there, so my job was to work for their brand-new candy counter. And one day at work with the boss, when deliveries were dropped off, I picked up a larger box and the owner then stopped me. “Wait, that’s heavy — you shouldn’t carry that.” And I laughed, explaining that I carry fifty pound salt blocks for our water softener, that I’m fine. I think maybe him seeing that women can stand up for themselves made it okay, in the heat of summer when the lines are out the door for ice cream, for me to leave the empty chocolate counter and be the first female there to ever scoop ice cream with the big boys. Looking back, you may say I’m a feminist pioneer by being the first female to scoop ice cream there, but when I look back I don’t see it that way. I just remember home-made chocolate ice cream with chocolate chips, molasses bits and added fudge, and that, my friends, was whipped into the perfect shake — no matter which gender did the job. |
