Amy Soup And Troll

I remember when I first got to know my Aunt Amy. It was when she stayed with me during one of many moves my dad made as a minister.

The first day she came, I showed her my room, which contained the rollaway bed I slept in, my clothes and toys, and most precious of all, a record player that I was allowed to operate at four years of age.

I played a record for her called “Do Lord, Do Remember Me” and asked her if it reminded her of Grandpa. (It never occurred to me that it was her dad I was talking about.) I was disappointed when she said no.

After we had been lying on my bed for a few minutes, I turned to her with a grin and told her I would call her Amy Soup. (Now everyone in the family called her Amy Sue because her mother was also named Amy.)

She objected to my name for her and tried to make me feel bad for teasing her, but I insisted her name was now Amy Soup.

“Then I’ll call you Troll!” she declared.

I was both horrified and delighted at the name she had picked for me, which was a play on my name as well. (Troy) I just smiled and said, “Nope, you’re Amy Soup.”

I guess Aunt Amy didn’t know what to think of such a bold kid as myself, but I loved her, and she knew it.

After we had moved, she was still staying with us. I guess she stayed the whole summer.

One day she was watching me as my parents were at work. I grew bored of playing in the yard and told my Aunt I was going to the park. Thinking I was pretending, she smiled and said, “Okay.” I can just see myself balling up my little fist and breathing, “Yes!”

I actually went to the park. My dad had taken me one day, and I remembered how to get there. I even told myself everything my dad had said as we had looked both ways before crossing the street, and I found the park without a hitch.

The park had a variety of puddles. All were in strategic spots, like under the swings and at the bottom of the slide, but I went down the slide and used the swings anyway.

When my mother found me, I was wet from playing, but as we walked back home, she threatened to spank me for wetting my pants. “I didn’t wet my pants!” I cried. Who could tell?

I used to think of that when my son was little. He used to say to me, “I want to go to a nudder one playground!” The puddles under the swings and slide never meant anything to him either.