Weave the Web
Recording Family Legends for Generations to Come
No Guns: Rethought
A Rebuttal by Nancy Webster Ware
When I took issue with some of the "facts" of Haden's piece, No Guns, he rightfully put me in my place saying that it was HIS story and I had no right to alter it.
So here is my version. To return to Haden's original click here: NO GUNS
Ah, what memories Haden’s piece evokes. Being the mother of three sons was, for the most part, a blessing, but I have never been an admirer of the macho male image driven by testosterone, and I have hated, detested and feared guns for as long as I can remember. Guns would simply not be allowed in my house. I can’t tell you, however, how many times I would look out the kitchen window and see my little soldiers going, “Bam, Bam Bam” at each other with their pointed sticks in hand.
I was more successful with my declaration that I would not prohibit any of my sons from playing football or ice hockey, but, if they joined a team, I would never drive them to any practices and I would certainly never come watch any of their games. As a result, while under my watch, they went out for baseball and crew!
I am a little fuzzier on why No Gum was on the taboo list, but to this day, you will lose points with me if you engage me in a conversation while chewing gum. It looks more ovine than human to me. Yet Haden is correct in noting that watching a baseball game is an exception to this rule, and when the stringed bubble gum came out in chewing tobacco tins I was ecstatic- I just felt so real – so with the moment – opening up that tin during the first inning of a game and putting a big wad of the pink stuff in my mouth. It made yelling at the umpire much more convincing. Perhaps that is why Haden remembers putting Bubblicious pieces of gum into a Copenhagen Tobacco tin – I don’t remember that at all!
But I did find Haden’s view of the Little League All Star competition quite interesting when he said that his nerves had a hard time dealing with it. He was good; he was very good. One of his coaches told me that he had never seen such talent in so young a kid, and that if Haden stuck with the sport, he could be looking at the Pros. But I do vividly remember that he developed a tic every time he came up to bat. He would bang the bat against the plate, put it up against his shoulder, … TIC… TIC… He’d jerk his head quickly, almost indiscernibly. Then he’d take a couple of free swings…TIC… TIC… then he’d be ready for the pitch. It was odd, disconcerting, and only happened when he came to bat! Could it have been his Montessori training that made him nervous about competing, winning, and being responsible for someone else losing? If so, then I’m very happy his bubble gum in his tobacco tin gave him the needed confidence!
Now for some corrections to his story:
Charley Pavek was a one-of-a-kind love of a man, and it was my pleasure to be able to give back to him. The way I tell the story is that, in his paranoia, I was the only one who could comfort him. I have no knowledge of the stash of Playboys (what mother would), and I was never aware that Haden shot a gun! Charley’s son was David Pavek – not Patrick as Haden remembers, and I guess I owe David for helping my son appreciate his mother!! I do remember the bikini clad cut out – hey there’s got to be some recognition of the testosterone in the house. I do think it may have been Michael’s as I remember a picture of Michael posing in front of it- but it may have been financed not by Michael’s software pirating, but rather by Arthur’s selling of Dr. Ruth tapes!
We did take more on our trip than merely our clothes. Our trip to California was to be a new beginning, and it was true we had little financial resources to make this new start, so what we could sell, we did. However, I packed up Grandmother Ware’s rocking chair, the old bed that I slept in as a child, and a couple of boxes of assorted things. We piggy-backed as a partial load with some moving company, and I have proof in a picture with David Pavek standing on the rear of the van after it was loaded up.
My memories of the drive out west are colored by a sense of adventure, excitement and dread. What had I done? Where was I going? Would we make it? I felt destiny had exerted her power, placed me in the cream colored Saab that my dear friend, Susan Tidyman, had willed to me, and sent me on my way. It was more than just “7 nights of crappy hotels.” A Montessori family owned a house on Lake Tahoe, and they had given us the key. We stayed there for four days, and I remember vividly rafting down the Truckee River- a memory I still hold dear.
Haden remembers the cigarette smoke; I remember Scooter. Scooter was a mouse that we had bought to feed to a snake we had in the terrarium at a little pre-school day camp that I ran. The snake was not interested in the mouse and the two co-habitated for the six weeks of camp. We let the snake go, but Haden wanted to keep Scooter. I think I recall trying to get Scooter in to our garage sale, but I lost that argument, and Scooter came Westward Ho in the Saab. When entering California, it is necessary to go through customs of sorts so that the authorities can make certain no blight or bacteria are being brought in that might compromise the “bread basket of the World.” We were quite nervous that they would confiscate Scooter, so we told Haden to hide him under his jacket. All went well, and Scooter became a Californian who had a frightful ending, but that’s another story.
Petaluma, where we settled, was indeed, the “Chicken Capital of the World,” but Haden was no chicken. He braved Petaluma Junior High where the bullies took their toll but not his soul. He enlivened the San Francisco Day School, but, when given the chance to return East for high school, he couldn’t get out of CA fast enough.
I have to admit to my youngest son, that I really had NO idea what I was dong when I made the decision to come to California. NONE ZERO! ZIP!
“Have faith Haden, have faith….mom knows what she’s doing. She was right about the gun, remember the gun!”
But it has turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life, and he hasn’t fared too badly either, and so I leave saying, “Have faith, Haden, have faith. Destiny knows what she’s doing, even if your mother doesn’t! ... and indeed, anything is possible!”
Haden's Rebuttal to the Rebuttal:
WOW!! I love it!
Now I have a rebuttal of my own…It wasn’t Scooter it was Colossus. Scooter was Arthur’s mouse from the summer camp. I think he died when the tin-foil top we put on his terrarium collapsed and suffocated him. I was young at this time, probably around 4 so I’m not 100% correct. I do know that my mouse was Colossus and he was killed by that stupid hamster Dim (a fitting name)
