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Dance of the Chickens: An Anthology of Light-Hearted Stories

by Ben Romero

190 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-1907; ISBN 1-4120-4100-7; US$19.50, C$23.00, EUR16.00, £11.50

Everybody has a story. And every story has a lesson. This anthology is a collection of true-life humor and mishaps told by people from all walks of life.

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book Everybody has a story. And every story has a lesson. He who tells his tale, enriches his very self, for sharing is reliving. This book is filled with true adventures and mishaps experienced by sixty people from many walks of life. Told in first person using dialogue, each event comes alive with underlying lessons mixing humor, love and drama. The vignettes have universal appeal. Approximate length is 55,750 words. This book targets older children and adults.

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About the Author Ben Romero was born and raised in Northern New Mexico, the fifth of seven children in an Hispanic, Catholic household. Romero is a part-time Adult Education teacher in as ESL program (English as a Second Language), and uses some of his writings as material for teaching. He has spent the past twenty-nine years working for the US Postal Service and received a Bachelor of Arts degree in Management with a minor in Spanish from Fresno Pacific University in 1995. Romero is active in the Catholic Church, occasionally serving as CCD Instructor, and as a member of Holy Spirit Parish Men's Club. He is also a member of the Central California Hispanic Chamber of Commerce. Romero is married to Evelyn Romero, his wife of thirty-three years. They have five children and four grandchildren. Dance of the Chickens is Ben's third book. His first two books, Chicken Beaks: Growing up Hispanic and Chicken Beaks Revisited: An Hispanic Adolescence, are part of a three-book series. The third book in that series will be available in early 2005.

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Excerpts

INTRODUCTION

Everybody has a story. And every story has a lesson. He who tells his tale, enriches his very self, for sharing is reliving. This book is filled with true adventures and mishaps experienced by people from many walks of life. The material within the pages is meant to be enjoyed with open minds and hearts. Let go your daily burdens and allow yourself a moment in time to graze on life's unexpected. This book is dedicated to my grandchildren; my nephew, Vincent Vigil; and to all the people who contributed stories.

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WHEN THONGS WERE SHOES

By Ben Romero

Dedicated to my three daughters

She needed summer shoes, something comfortable, practical and inexpensive.

My wife, Evelyn walked in the front door, a pair of yellow thongs in her hand. "Look I what I have for you." It made sense. They were easy to slip on and off, yet sturdy enough for a nineyear- old. "They'll be perfect for our trip to the beach."

"I wanted Jellies," said Victoria, obviously disappointed. "What's that?" I asked.

"They're those new plastic shoes girls are wearing," said Evelyn. "They come in bright colors and have holes all over." "Are they expensive?"

"Nah," said Evelyn shaking her head, "about five bucks." Victoria's eyes pleaded.

"Buy her a pair tomorrow," I said.

Victoria smiled, her teeth gleaming in contrast to suntanned skin.

Evelyn shook her head. She often said I let the kids wrap me around their little finger, but her body language told me she'd be glad to go shopping again.

"Look Dad, they're purple!" She walked around the house like Cinderella showing off glass slippers.

"They look flimsy to me," said my son, Andy, trying to step on her feet.

"Leave your sister alone," I cautioned. "You're older and bigger than her, but she's got a temper."

"We're here!" Andy and Victoria raced to the water, Andy in sandals, Victoria wearing Jellies. My wife and I walked slowly. I held my son Gabriel's hand and Evelyn carried Rebecca.

"Hold on!" yelled Evelyn. Victoria was already ankle-deep in water and still running. A wave formed and she turned around, trying to avoid it. She got knocked down, Jellies floating in foamy, brown seawater.

"Are you all right?"

"My Jelly!" Each wave carried it farther.

Several years later we were planning a trip to the same beach. Andy and Victoria were grown, married, and out of the house. Gabriel and Rebecca were sophisticated teenagers, and my youngest daughter, Olivia was seven years old.

"We don't want to make the same mistake we made when we bought Victoria Jellies," I told Evelyn. "Why don't you buy Olivia a pair of thongs for the beach."

"I wouldn't wear one of those things in public," said Olivia, wrinkling her forehead Rebecca snickered.

"Why not?" I asked, more confused than ever.

"I'm not letting the world see my butt."

"What are you talking about?"

"Thongs are underwear," said Evelyn.

"Since when? I can't see how anybody could use them for underwear."

"No, you're not listening to me." She stood close and stared into my eyes like she needed to connect with my brain. "They sell intimate underwear called thongs."

I looked around. Rebecca and Gabriel were giggling. "So what do you call the shoes now?"

"I don't know. Maybe they're called Zorries again, like in the old days."

I hate to think what I'd be referring to if I used the word Jellies.

WEEBLE PEOPLE

By Ben Romero

Dedicated to my son, Andy and my daughter, Victoria

I lay on my back, oblivious to the world around me. I had worked overtime the previous night, as usual, and was droopy-eye tired. It was a mid-summer morning, but with shutters over the glass doors and windows my room was dark.

"Zoooooom, zooooom," my five-year old son's high-pitched voice danced about like a mosquito searching for a spot to land. I felt my four-year old daughter's hot breath on my neck, as she climbed on my bed. "Weeble People," she said, in her clear, precise voice.

My eyes fluttered open for a moment and I saw my son swooping the large toy airplane inches above my face. "Zoooooom."

"Weeble People," repeated Victoria.

"Take the Weeble People plane in your room to play," I said. "Daddy needs to sleep."

"Look, Dad," said Andy, swooping the plane on my stomach for a landing. "The Weeble People are in here."

He opened the plane and out plopped the contents: two sandwich bags, each holding a limp baby chick.

I jumped, eyes open wide. "Those aren't Weeble People! You can't put baby chicks in plastic bags." I tore open the bags and placed the poor little birds next to me. "I think they're dead." "We were just giving them a plane ride," said Andy.

"They're going mimi like you," said Victoria.

Not knowing what else to do, I lifted and blew on the chicks. Within a few moments, fuzzy haired wings began to move and tiny toothpick legs twitched and wiggled.

"Oh, look. They're alive." I was glad and angry at the same time. "Don't ever take those chicks from their mama without permission," I growled.

Andy backed away from the bed. Victoria's lower lip puckered. A stubborn tear appeared but didn't drop. "You said they were mine."

"You're right," I sighed. "I did say when the eggs hatch, the chicks would belong to you. I'm sorry I got angry. Come here, both of you."

With one child on each side of me and two dizzy chicks on my lap I said what I thought they needed to hear. "I wouldn't want somebody putting my babies in a plastic bag and riding them in a plane. Would you? I'll bet the mama hen is worried about her babies. Can you understand that?"

"Sorry Dad," said Andy.

Victoria gave me a silent hug that spoke volumes.

"Now, how about taking the chicks back to the nest? Later we'll ride the real Weeble People in the plane."

It wasn't until later that day that I understood why they'd placed the chicks in the plane. When I lifted one of the Weeble People, I realized it was shaped like an egg.

PREGNANCY AND HUNGER

By Nancy C. Ray

Dedicated to Missy Michelle(y) and Mom

My daughter, Nicolette and I were a mile from the restaurant when I pulled off the freeway. Something didn't feel right.

"Mom, what's wrong? You don't look right."

I didn't want to frighten her with my premonition. "Nothing, honey. I guess I'm just excited that my twin sister is going to have a baby."

"Why didn't we ride together with Grandma Celeste and aunt Dorothy?"

"Oh, you don't want to be in the same car with a pregnant woman, do you? Look, there's the restaurant."

My mind raced. I couldn't explain my apprehension. I felt like something violent was going to happen. My mom and sister were waiting for us. I decided to keep my thoughts to myself.

As we entered the restaurant I noticed two women, and two men sitting on the porch and assessed them carefully. They looked out of place. Were they waiting for someone?

The waitress sat us at a table in the middle of the room, Mom and Dorothy on one side, Nicolette and I on the other. The place was full to capacity. I scoped out the layout, checking where the kitchen, hallways, and all the exits were located.

"Nancy, is something wrong?" asked Mom.

"I don't like this place. I can't believe you come here. It's not my kind of restaurant."

"It's not a bad place," said Mom, picking up her menu. Dorothy could read me better than anyone. She patted my hand. "Don't worry. The people are nice and the food is real good."

The first course arrived, soup of the day. It was delicious. Then the salad. I began to relax. Then the main course, a Calamari steak in all its glory. That is when I decided my premonition had been wrong.

Each of us was cutting into our Calamari when a sound like firecrackers from outside broke the silence. Glass and drywall were being sprayed all over our table. One of the men I had seen on the front porch emptied his guns, firing eight to ten shots. Everyone dove to the floor.

"Crawl to the kitchen!" ordered the waitress. All of us did. Except one.

Crowded in the kitchen, we waited for police to arrive, too frightened to move. After several minutes, the waitress stepped out, then came back into the kitchen shaking her head. "I can't believe there is still a woman in there eating. And she wants more salad."

I braved a peak into the seating area, and there was Dorothy, sitting at the table eating. "Are you nuts?" I called. "There could be glass fragments and drywall in your food."

"But I'm hungry! I'm really hungry," said Dorothy. Michelle was born July, 2000.

SNAKE IN THE GRASS

By Janet Stutzman

Dedicated to my daughter, Hannah

I pushed the key into the lock, balancing a grocery bag on my hip. Before I could turn it, Hannah flung the door wide.

"Mom! You gotta help me catch the snake!"

"What snake?" I asked, setting the groceries on the table. She ran to the family room, dropped to her knees and peered under the sofa.

"It's in the house?" I asked.

"Yeah. But I don't know where."

"How did it get in the house?"

"I was bringing it in to show Dad and it jumped out of the bowl. And Dad wouldn't let me catch it until he took his pants off." Exasperated, Hannah crawled around the room peering under each piece of furniture.

"What?" I asked, "Why would he want his pants off before you caught the snake?"

Hannah rose to her knees and faced me. "Well, he was trying to get his feet out," she explained. "And by the time he did, the snake was gone."

"You mean the snake was in his pants?" I asked. Hannah nodded.

"How in the heck..."

"I found a snake in the back yard. I put it in a bowl," Hannah explained, as if to an imbecile. "I took it in the house to show Dad, and it jumped out of the bowl. Dad was taking his pants off to put on his swim trunks and the snake landed right in his pants." "Now," she continued, "We have to find it. It's so small it could really get lost in here."

"What kind of snake are we looking for?"

"It's just a little garter snake. I don't know why Dad got so excited."

"I can't imagine," I said, smiling.

Steve had no idea what he was getting into when he vowed, "For better or for worse."

I got down on the floor to help search. "Well, where did it go?" "After Dad got his pants off, it slithered under the recliner." Hannah and I searched the room and found the six-inch visitor behind a video case. It crawled into my hand, serpentine scales gleaming like tiny jewels.

No wonder she wanted to show it to her dad!

Together, we took it into the front yard and released it on the lawn. Within seconds, perfectly camouflaged, it disappeared before our eyes.

"That's awesome!" Hannah breathed.

"Yeah, it sure is," I said.

Steve was nowhere to be found.

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Catalogue Information

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