On my way out the door to start my day, I noticed Bubba, the 8-year-old neighbor boy, running down the street in the rain - shirtless and shoeless...definitely not usual attire for a fall rain in Western Pennsylvania. He was shooting his little toy pistol at invisible bad guys, fearlessly defending Hillbilly America before heading off to school. Bubba is rocking a new haircut...a mohawk, and it appeared as though he had just finished his usual breakfast - a 2 liter of Mountain Dew. I thought briefly about making small talk with Bubba about his new haircut or his lack of a shirt and shoes, but decided I really didn't feel like engaging in conversation with him quite that early in the morning.
Bubba's mom was standing by her brother's car while he was trying to get out. You see, Bubba's uncle is a little on the "beefy" side and it is extremely difficult for him to get out of his PT Cruiser. He shimmies and flails his arms about, trying to pry himself out of the car. Sometimes he is successful, and sometimes he isn't. Usually, he pulls up to the curb and honks his horn, signaling his arrival. Bubba's family then goes out to the car to talk to him so he doesn't have to burn a calorie or two trying to get out of his car. However, he moves with surprising speed and agility when they are about to enjoy a feast of Uncle Charley's sausage and ice cream cake on the front porch.
While witnessing his most recent struggle I felt like I should offer some kind of help, but all of my options seemed inappropriate and potentially offensive. "Hey, can I get you a tub of Crisco and a giant shoehorn?" or "Should I call the fire department? Maybe they could help you with the jaws of life." But, if Bubba's mom isn't trying to help her own brother, then why should I be the helpful neighbor? So, I continued on my way when I heard a very loud, frustrated, "Go***mmit! And it's raining!" Startled, I jumped and walked a little faster to my car. Bubba's uncle proceeded with several various expletives, which did not even phase Bubba or his mom. I briefly glanced over and saw Bubba's uncle still flailing about and trying to pull himself out of his car. It was at this moment that it hit me....the resemblance between Jabba the Hut and Bubba's uncle is uncanny. If Jabba the Hut wore glasses and had a foul mouth, they could be twins.
With the family dynamics and bizarre hillbilly behavior that occurs across the street, I can only imagine what my family and I will witness on Thanksgiving Day. Whatever happens, there is sure to be quality entertainment. Maybe we'll even be lucky enough to watch them carve their turkey with a light saber.