The nearest uncle When I was 8 years old and my cousin Melanie was 5, we took a family trip to Tweetsie Railroad in the beautiful North Carolina mountains. Aunt Marilyn and Uncle Bobby, Melanie’s parents, always made it a point to include me in their vacation plans. Aunt Marilyn talked endlessly about the enormous rhododendrons we would see on our way to Boone. Uncle Bobby reminded us to keep a lookout for ferocious cowboys and Indians. Melanie and I could barely contain our excitement. After a beautiful drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway, we finally arrived at Tweetsie Railroad. The park was packed with tourists. When the famous Tweetsie Train came around the bend, it sounded its arrival with a tremendous whistle. The whistle was so loud, it drowned out the music from a nearby bluegrass band. We were all surprised by this loud noise. Melanie in particular reacted to the train whistle. She literally climbed up Uncle Bobby’s legs, up his torso, wrapped her little arms around his neck and proceeded to loose control of her bladder. My poor uncle was soaked. Melanie and I suddenly realized that the man that Melanie climbed was not Uncle Bobby. It was a unsuspecting tourist who happened to be standing next to Melanie when the Tweetsie Train whistle sounded. Every time I hear a train whistle, even 32 years later, I can’t help but smile when I think of the look on that poor man’s face. Jennifer Petty |
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