were really paying attention. Until they pooped.
"You cut that out, Norm!" I shouted. "You do that somewhere else!"
"What's that cow's name?" Brian asked.
"The heifer? Norm Van Brocklin."
"Who's that?"
"The first Vikings coach. Back in the sixties."
"How about that one?"
"Jerry Burns."
"I know him! He was a Viking coach too." Brian seemed pleased he knew that.
"That's what Dad wanted this year. Vikings staff."
"Why'd he use coaches instead of football players?"
I shrugged like I didn't know the answer. "I remember one year I showed a heifer named Lee Roy Jordan."
"You what?"
"You know, the 4-H fair? You must go sometimes for the carnival rides."
"You showed cows?" Brian looked amazed.
"Well, duh, look where we live. Lee Roy Jordan was some University of Alabama tackle from back in the sixties. These old farmers would pass by and see that name and light up. 'Remember the Orange Bowl? Remember that play?' I heard more about that one game..."
And that was how our days went. We painted and worked out and trained, and Rick Leach (Michigan) and Sidney Williams (Wisconsin) both calved, so we had little baby heifers to feed, which is more work but they're so cute it's worth it. Dad named them Max Winter and Bert Rose after the Vikings' first president and general manager from 1961 when Dad as a kid decided that a start-up team like that would need a player like him someday, which is how all us Schwenks ended up not being Packers fans. Brian brought a whole bunch of those little triangular flags from his dad's truck dealership and strung them around the field to keep the heifers off the grass, which made our football field look extra great. But mainly what I remember is talking. Eating brownies, lots of them, but mainly just talking. Being with Brian, it was like I was practicing something I'd never known I needed but I might need again sometime, so getting it downâfiguring out how to talkâwould probably be a good idea.
14. Talk Back
I say that's how the week went, and it was pretty great in the beginning. But then things began to get a little intense. For one thing, Dad and the browniesâwell, let's just say I never knew baking powder was so important. And then there was the subject of Curtis.
On Wednesday, Dad and Curtis had to go back to the dentist. Curtis had a cavity even though he flosses every night, which I find kind of unusual for a kid who's not all that big on personal hygiene. Dad was disgusted. "It's microscopic, for Pete's sake." He kept popping his teeth out to make the point. Which was something I really wanted Brian to see.
"It's important" was all Curtis would say.
Once they left we went out to work on Brian's arm. Again. As he passed me the football he asked, "How come Curtis never talks?"
"He talks," I said. "He talks to his friends, I think."
"You think?"
"He's not retarded," I said defensively.
"Of course he's not retarded! I didn't say he was retarded."
"They keep testing him at school. But he's not. There's nothing wrong with him."
Brian eyed me. "Why do you think they're testing him, then?"
"Move your feet more," I said for the millionth time. We passed the football for a few minutes, me not saying a word while I thought about all this.
"Never mind," Brian said finally. "Forget I said anything."
"So what do you think is wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing. I don't think it's anything. It's just, my mother..."
"Your mother thinks there's something wrong with Curtis?" I couldn't believe it.
"She's with this group called Talk Back. She goes all over Wisconsin talking to church groups."
"Talk Back? That's really what it's called? You're supposed to walk into some church basement and say, 'I'm here to learn how to Talk Back?'" It was a little mean, I know, but it made me mad, the thought of Brian and his mom sitting around talking about how screwed up Curtis was, and the rest of us too, probably.
"It's a stupid name, I know. It's just to get families communicating and
"You cut that out, Norm!" I shouted. "You do that somewhere else!"
"What's that cow's name?" Brian asked.
"The heifer? Norm Van Brocklin."
"Who's that?"
"The first Vikings coach. Back in the sixties."
"How about that one?"
"Jerry Burns."
"I know him! He was a Viking coach too." Brian seemed pleased he knew that.
"That's what Dad wanted this year. Vikings staff."
"Why'd he use coaches instead of football players?"
I shrugged like I didn't know the answer. "I remember one year I showed a heifer named Lee Roy Jordan."
"You what?"
"You know, the 4-H fair? You must go sometimes for the carnival rides."
"You showed cows?" Brian looked amazed.
"Well, duh, look where we live. Lee Roy Jordan was some University of Alabama tackle from back in the sixties. These old farmers would pass by and see that name and light up. 'Remember the Orange Bowl? Remember that play?' I heard more about that one game..."
And that was how our days went. We painted and worked out and trained, and Rick Leach (Michigan) and Sidney Williams (Wisconsin) both calved, so we had little baby heifers to feed, which is more work but they're so cute it's worth it. Dad named them Max Winter and Bert Rose after the Vikings' first president and general manager from 1961 when Dad as a kid decided that a start-up team like that would need a player like him someday, which is how all us Schwenks ended up not being Packers fans. Brian brought a whole bunch of those little triangular flags from his dad's truck dealership and strung them around the field to keep the heifers off the grass, which made our football field look extra great. But mainly what I remember is talking. Eating brownies, lots of them, but mainly just talking. Being with Brian, it was like I was practicing something I'd never known I needed but I might need again sometime, so getting it downâfiguring out how to talkâwould probably be a good idea.
14. Talk Back
I say that's how the week went, and it was pretty great in the beginning. But then things began to get a little intense. For one thing, Dad and the browniesâwell, let's just say I never knew baking powder was so important. And then there was the subject of Curtis.
On Wednesday, Dad and Curtis had to go back to the dentist. Curtis had a cavity even though he flosses every night, which I find kind of unusual for a kid who's not all that big on personal hygiene. Dad was disgusted. "It's microscopic, for Pete's sake." He kept popping his teeth out to make the point. Which was something I really wanted Brian to see.
"It's important" was all Curtis would say.
Once they left we went out to work on Brian's arm. Again. As he passed me the football he asked, "How come Curtis never talks?"
"He talks," I said. "He talks to his friends, I think."
"You think?"
"He's not retarded," I said defensively.
"Of course he's not retarded! I didn't say he was retarded."
"They keep testing him at school. But he's not. There's nothing wrong with him."
Brian eyed me. "Why do you think they're testing him, then?"
"Move your feet more," I said for the millionth time. We passed the football for a few minutes, me not saying a word while I thought about all this.
"Never mind," Brian said finally. "Forget I said anything."
"So what do you think is wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing. I don't think it's anything. It's just, my mother..."
"Your mother thinks there's something wrong with Curtis?" I couldn't believe it.
"She's with this group called Talk Back. She goes all over Wisconsin talking to church groups."
"Talk Back? That's really what it's called? You're supposed to walk into some church basement and say, 'I'm here to learn how to Talk Back?'" It was a little mean, I know, but it made me mad, the thought of Brian and his mom sitting around talking about how screwed up Curtis was, and the rest of us too, probably.
"It's a stupid name, I know. It's just to get families communicating and
Similar Books
