The First Family Of The Bucket

In my home town, there's a section of town called "The Bucket." It
hasn't always been called "The Bucket." It used to be called "The
Bloody Bucket." I'm not exactly sure why. When I was in elementary
school, there was a story involving a head and a bucket. Yes, a human
head. But I don't remember the details and have no idea if there's even
a real event that inspired such a story.

It was considered a rough part of town. Many of the people there were
looked down upon. Most of the area was White folks. In a small South
Georgia town, the poor Black folks and the poor White folks lived in
different areas. Just like the rich Black folks and the rich White
folks lived in different areas. Well, the Bucket was mostly poor White
folks. Oh, and the folks that lived there (and live there today) don't
like it referred to as the Bucket.

They'll get over it.

Oh, and yes, I have had relatives that lived in the Bucket. Might still
have some that live there, but I'm not sure. But I want to tell you
about some that lived there once.

There was a family there that was what might be called an "extended family." Not everyone was blood kin. But, after the old man died, the mother went shopping for a new husband. She found one at the county training center. That's where people with educational deficiencies are able to be trained to function better in society. And some do better than others.

Well, the mother found her one there and took him home to the rest of the family. I went to school with the son, "Spinnin' Johnny."

Johnny thought he was a pulpwood truck. He made truck engine noises wherever he went. And he was like that for as long as I knew him. One time, in Jr. High, I saw him get stuck in the mud. He put it in reverse, backed up a little, put it in forward, moved up a little, then backed up again, then floored it and spun around, getting under control as he left the mud puddle. That was Spinnin' Johnny.

When he got older, gave up being a truck, but still enjoyed things that made noise. In fact, he got himself a mo-ped one day years later.

Now, what I'm about to tell you, I didn't personally witness, but my brother-in-law did.

One day, just after the first of the months and the checks came in, Johnny and his step-father, "Rubber Ducky," (I'll tell the story of how he got that name one day) went down the road to Hardee's, which used to be at the edge of the Bucket, but not in the Bucket. They went there on Johnny's mo-ped, with Johnny driving and Rubber Ducky on the back.

When they got to Hardee's, Duck jumped off the back and went inside. Johnny put the kick-stand down and leaned forward, causing the rear wheel to be in the air and the front wheel to be on the ground. Johnny leaned forward and accelerate the engine. The mo-ped engine would race and the rear wheel would spin in the air, and Johnny was there in his own world, racing his mo-ped.

When Duck came out of Hardee's with a double-armload of bags filled with burgers and fries, he didn't pay Johnny any attention, but sat down on the rear of the mo-ped.

Duck's weight caused the rear wheel, moving at top speed, to suddenly come in contact with the ground. The mo-ped flipped a near-complete circle throwing Johnny, Duck, the mo-ped, and all the food into the air. It was described as looking like a hamburger bomb went off.

They got up, dusted themselves off, picked up the hamburgers (but left the fries on the ground), put them back in the bags, got on the mo-ped, and took supper home.

The First Family of the Bucket had more members in the household, but we'll talk about them another day.