Welcome to the KingZoo and Funny Farm, where we learn to live, laugh, and love together. Here you'll find snippets of life in our zoo, parenting tips we've learned along the way, reflections on shining God's light in this world, passions in the realm of orphan care, and our journey as parents of a visually impaired child with sensory processing disorder. Have fun!

Friday, December 28, 2012

King Funeral Home

When I was young, I played teacher.  Constantly.  My poor brother.  I can specifically remember teaching him to spell my name (always start with the important stuff) and then moving on to spell candy (you only have to switch the "i" with an "a").  He also had to memorize whatever Bible memory I was learning in school at the time.

Later on the bus, I read chapter books to the younger kids, again practicing the role of teacher.  It also kept the kids from getting in trouble on the hour and 45 minute bus ride.  But ultimately, I just liked playing teacher.

Children play what they know so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to find out at this year's King Christmas that the King children (ie. my husband and his siblings) used to play funeral home.  Why not?  They grew up in the funeral home and their father was a mortician.  Their mom did hair.  For dead people.  I don't know if there's a name for that or not.  Probably not.  I've never heard anyone proudly announce that their daughter had just graduated from dead people cosmetology school.  But then again, things to do with medicine and dead people are usually in Latin so maybe it's something like mortuus persona capillus excogitatorusology.

Anyway, I'm told that they'd dress up (in black, of course) and place one of the younger children in the wagon (usually John as #5 of Sam as #6) and tell them to be really still.  I'm sure tears were involved.  Maybe a little singing.  An obituary was read and the mourners would walk up to the wagon, er, casket, and speak kind words about the deceased sibling.  I was thinking that we should be surprised that these children all grew up to be normal, hardworking adults, able to chew gum and walk at the same time.  But then again...

This conversation led to some confessions.  I learned that Aunt Shirley once went to the wrong funeral. She got herself in a bit of a pickle when a family member of the unknown deceased started asking questions.  She had to think fast, quickly sign the guest book and make a sudden get-away.  I bet she had those funeral directors talking about that women that went to both of their funerals in the same day. Her excuse?  She went in by the back door (the one that you usually don't enter standing up) and got all mixed up.  That's okay, a woman attended my Auntie Frances' funeral and during the sharing time she (the woman, not Auntie Frances) got up during the sharing time and droned on for several minutes about Betty.  We're all fairly certain that Auntie Frances didn't have the secret Facebook name of Betty.

Aunt Shirley also confessed that she has been to a dog funeral.  Not knowing what one would expect at a dog funeral we were all ears.  Apparently you are to serve pumpkin pie.  Cause that's what Aunt Shirley had at the dog funeral she attended.  Hmmm.  I wonder if we were supposed to serve pumpkin pie at the funeral for Eden's hermit crab?

This is all very interesting but I just want everyone to know that if anyone rolls a wagon in here tomorrow, I'm outta here.

No comments:

Post a Comment