Royals in the kitchen
It’s late in the afternoon. The plastic handle at the end of a faded string blows in the breeze, gusting in spurts through mom’s kitchen window and banging against the glass. Dad is still out in the field. He won’t come home until well after dark when the cab lights dim, and he can no longer see to plant soybeans in the dark rows that disappear under his tractor tires.
It’s hot and humid as I sit at the kitchen table with my coloring book. I perspire on my upper lip, just like my dad’s mother. In the summer, grandma always carries a paper towel in her hand to dab at the sweat on her face. Maybe I should get a paper towel, too. I beg mom to close the windows in our metal singlewide and turn on the air conditioner, but she says it’s too early. It will cool off tonight. It’s not time yet for A/C season.
Mom forms patties in her hands with the hamburger she’s pulled from the butcher paper package. Dinner most nights is some form of beef when you live on a farm. Hamburger Helper, steak fingers, Sunday roasts—it’s readily available and doesn’t weigh down the grocery bill. Tonight’s feast is burgers fried on the stove with cottage cheese and a real treat—crinkle fries. Mom will set aside a plate for dad later, but she and I will sit at the rickety table and eat soon. She plops the burgers into the hot skillet, washes her hands at the sink and turns up the volume on the small, black radio positioned between her and the window. Every farmhouse has a kitchen radio, even if your home sits on wheels. My mom’s mom has a kitchen radio too, except hers is more gray than black. It sits by her landline telephone and every day at noon, it tells us “the rest of the story” from Paul Harvey.
Mom’s radio is always tuned to one station—860 AM, KKOW, “the KOW.” In the mornings, old man Dan Willis gives the weather and local news in between classic gold country music hits. Mid-day, it’s the farm report with live cattle markets, crop prices and a daily interview with an agricultural expert. There’s sports news mixed in too, and then late in the afternoon, the Kansas City Royals baseball game is broadcast. I’ve never been to Kansas City. Mom says it’s a long drive, but I would love to watch some baseball.
Mom follows sports and always listens to the Royals in the evening. I like the play-by-play and the announcers’ talk, but on stormy nights, listening to the game scares me. Every so often static drowns out their voices for a second or two because of a lightning strike somewhere nearby. The silent presence of an incoming storm gives me goosebumps and makes my stomach hurt.
Mom flips over the burgers in the frying pan. Tonight’s game is at home in Kansas City against the St. Louis Cardinals. St. Louis is far away too, but the Missouri state line is only an hour drive from our farm. Sometimes dad goes to certain towns in Missouri to pick up tractor parts. The announcers run through the lineups of both teams for the evening. Then a quick station identification and 30-second weather update. There’s a 70 percent chance of storms tonight after dark. Large hail and damaging winds are possible. I shiver in my chair, but my top lip is still sweaty.
