No Chocolate Cows

Chocolate milk, my daddy told me, intently seriously, comes from chocolate cows. Then he immediately picked up his newspaper.

From her rocking chair. my grandmother Ruby cleared her throat and gave him a frown but held her tongue. The rest of the family nodded in agreement. Why, certainly, my Uncle Byron declared, head down and eyes lowered to the business of lighting his pipe, Had one for years. Ruby cleared her throat a little more forcefully and glared at her eldest son. I looked around the dining room table, going from face to face of my uncles, aunts and cousins. Those who would meet my eyes were straight faced, those who wouldn't busied themselves with a speck of dirt on the floor or an untied shoelace and Aunt Ivy became suddenly positive she had seen a mouse dart under her chair. My daddy was studying the newspaper with all his attention. There was not a sound until my grandmother put aside her mending, lowered her spectacles and beckoned me into her lap and began to laugh. Child, she said, giving me a hug, You can't believe everything people tell you, especially the people in this room. There are
no chocolate cows. My daddy lowered his paper and tried to apologize but there were tears in his eyes from
laughing and he made a poor job of it. Finally he took my hand and led me outside, down the veranda and to
the apple trees where he lifted me up to the branches and climbed after me. He explained he had been teasing and that it had been wrong and that he was sorry but he wouldn't promise not to do it again. There was a twinkle in his blue eyes and I knew that was as good as I was going to get so I settled. We stayed in the apple tree until Ruby rang the supper bell then he carried me back inside on his shoulders.

My daddy changed around his family. He became more at ease, laughed more often, accepted his own ability to be idle. He was a gentle, soft spoken man, always content to take a position in the background but he loved his family and the time he spent with them was precious to him. Sometimes they would chatter like magpies, other times there would be a wonderful, companionable stillness around the table. The family resemblance was almost eerie to me - each looked so much like the other and it grew more noticeable as they grew older. I felt free and safe with the family, I felt significant, even if there were no such things as chocolate cows.