Grand Pockets’s Blog

Genealogy, Family, Poetry and Peeves

Kids Say the Darndest Things!

Remember that old Art Linkletter Show and the books that followed? Every parent has those moments when their child says something so funny or embarrassing…last night was one of those moments…Ol’ Grandpockets was babysitting grandsons Nathan, Kordell, Payton and Kade so their Mamas could help Santa Claus at his local Wally World Workshop. It was getting late, around ten and Renee, my wife and a nurse, was in bed because she had a 5 am start for her shift. In an attempt to keep the boys occupied, edified and culturally educated we popped in that wonderfully educational Jackass 2 and when the laughter started getting too loud and raucous, Grandpockets put his foot down.

“Either quiet it down or I turn off your Sesame Street by Johnny Knoxville show” I growled, then repeated, then, well…shouted. Grandpockets has discovered his grandchildren are all nearly deaf because I have to yell before they hear me. The boys had finally quieted down when 7 year old Kade-alator mutters,

“Well, then we’ll all just sit here like monks and masturbate!”

Okay. When a child comes out with something like this, first I smack my ear to clear it from whatever caused me to hear wrong, then I ask for..ummm…clarification?

“What did you say? I asked. His older kith and kin were rolling around the floor, of course, howling with glee to rouse the dead – in this case, Renee from her sleep.

Kade-alator looked at me, baffled at all the laughter and worried because from Grandpockets look he knew he’d said something wrong.

“You know,” he explained, “like those Kung Fu dudes do, they sit around and masturbate.”

It was hopeless. I joined the other boys for a moment of uncontrolled laughter. Even Renee was laughing as she caught the tail end of things.

So what would you have done? Meditate on that for a moment….or maybe, take Kade-alator’s suggestion. Johnny Knoxville would.



December 21, 2008 Posted by | family, humor | , , , , , , | Leave a comment

World Serious Baseball Childhood Poem


Baseball is the American Past time because it can be played anywhere there are windows a kid can break. I think just about every boy imagined that moment of glory when he led his team to final victory in the last inning of the World Series – to the grownups our games were just a way to get us out of the house and doing something that would – hopefully – wear us down. Maybe mom and dad didn’t take it serious but to us it was – it was

World Serious!

Our Stadium was thronged with folks:
Maples, poplars, elms and oaks,
All waving limbs and whistling boughs.
What we saw were cheering crowds!
Where home plate was a paper plate
I’d take my hero’s stance and wait
For taped up ball to hurtle in
Mighty Feller was the pitcher then!
Where Nicky waited with first base mitt
To try and rob me of my hit
A rock marked first, and every base –
Crosley Field we named this place!
Where the world series of the streets
Was played each day ’til time to eat,
And here I waited with broomstick bat –
This game to win with mighty whack!
My team was ‘skins’ and we were down
And dinner bells were soon to sound,
The sacks were jammed from first to third –
The cheering crowd was all I heard!
Billy Dell was on the mound,
The fastest Feller in our town!
He kicked his leg and spun and threw –
One more strike and I was through!
It seems a dream but I recall
I swung my stick and cracked that ball –
Around the bases the runners flew,
2 ghostmen and Ricky, too!
I stood to watch and savor glory,
The receding ball, a game of story
When around the corner came disaster
The game stayed tied forever after!
Returning home came Tommy’s father,
He drove without a care or bother,
turning right in ‘centerfield’
He caught my drive on his windshield!
The rules were clear and all agreed –
The ball was dead for Iron Steeds.
To think a Chevy caused our trouble –
My homer ruled a ground rule double!

© 1970 Charles Elledge


December 21, 2008 Posted by | baseball, Poetry & Art | , , , , | Leave a comment

Caught With My Britches Down

Once a bunch of us kids went swimming at old man Goos’ farm pond near Loveland and I was wearing cutoff denims as swimming trunks. There was a girl I had a thing for there and her friends and her were swimming from one part of the bank and us boys from another, as if we’d all catch something if we swam too close together. We boys had a steep embankment to jump from, a good way to show off for the girls who were mainly sunbathing in the grass anyway. I suspect most of them weren’t there for swimming as much as to show off themselves and let us act the fool for them.

Naturally I obliged. I made a most spectacular half-twist and huge-splash running cannonball from the bank and hit the water a bit topsy turvy. Hit it hard, too. Enough to peel those baggy cutoffs clean down as the water filled em like a parachute catching air.

So now I am buck nekkid in cold water with an audience of giggling girls who have already seen my shorts surface several feet away from me. Far enough away in fact that rotten Melody Barnes, who I shan’t forget as long as I live, plucked them from the shallows and made for the hills, so to speak.

Now I can swim. But in the matter of how long I can tread water I was soon to find out because those rotten girls weren’t about to tender up my shorts to me. My so called friends, rusty Randy and runny nose little Nick Gabbard were laughing and not about to help, either. So there I was and might have remained treading water to this day because I am sure Melody was not going to leave before I clambered out nekkid…and cold…and smallll…when I was rescued by old Farmer Goos coming up the track hollering at us dang kids and cursing us good.

He was an old German and had a colorful vernacular. Everyone disappeared hither skither about as fast as a bunch of rabbits busting out of a grass clump and Old man Goos come barreling around the bend before I could get out of there.

“What the hail in tarnation”..then he saw the shorts abandoned on the spot whence the girls had fled.

“Caught ye with yer pants down, din’t ee?” He cackled. “Hoo boy had I un camera boy…”

I dog paddled to the side opposite him and was ankles up in pond muck wondering if I could make it home without being seen. I’m fast I’m thinking but probably not that fast…

The old farmer turned, his striped coveralls hanging off his sweaty longjohn tops as he put his hand in his pocket and pulled put his kerchief.

“Come on out boy…I ainta lookin..betcha that..”

He made a lot of moaning sounds which shivered me more than the cold as I swam for the exit closest my shorts. I dashed out and grabbed em on, kinda hopping one legged and turned for a last look before I beat it pell mell outta there. He was laughing, I realized, not moaning, holding his sides crying, he was laughing so hard.

So you see, I had many less than dextrous moments as a young man enthralled with but vexed and stymied by the fairer sex.

December 21, 2008 Posted by | family, humor | , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Bedley Snatcher Revisited:Children’s Poems

When you were little was there the terror of the night? With claws and big saucer sized green glowing eyes – you know – the horrid Bedley-snatcher! Every night I would moan a bit to myself as Mom and Dad tucked me in knowing there was no reprieve from the terror that lay ahead. Complaints would only bring the admonition to “be a big boy, now, Chuckie” and maybe Mom would smooth down my unruly bangs a bit but I knew neither would offer to stay and keep that monster out from under my bed. I think the darn creature came out of the vents from the attic but really, I’ve never been sure – I only know that the only defense against him was to curl up under the blankets and wrap ‘em up as tight as possible – nothing peeking out! Bedleys can’t get through blankets, don’t you know. So I’d snuggle thinking of…

The Bedley Snatcher!

My bed is warm and blankety,

Its underbed that frightens me,

Where dreaded bedley-snatcher lurks

with greeny claws and evil smirks.

The rules are clear…when woe! is I

and Bedley-Snatcher frights are nigh

Its keeper-eyes-closed-safe-is-free

Then mumble prayers real fervently!

“R Father who Art’n’Hebbin, Don’t let me

Die before elebbin, and if I die before I wake

Please let me keep my garter snake”

(God and little boys have this understanding)

Screw up eyes in squeezed-shut scaredom

Tent head and eyes – don’t unbare them:

For it’s a fact which all boys know

Bedley grabs whatever shows!

Now…quake and shibber, lay ensconced

in blanket shields for just a nonce,

He’ll shake your bed and moan perhaps

but soon will leave you to your naps.

If all else fails, leap up and RUN!

Just dash it all, and have some fun

Skitter me sliding down the hall

then jump in bed ‘tween Ma and Pa!

Chuck Elledge 2001


December 21, 2008 Posted by | family, humor, Poetry & Art | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Ass Skating and First Snow

ass_skatingSnow fell all through the night. I went out this morning and caught flakes on my tongue. I always do that when snow first falls. Tasting winter, my father called it. Did you ever make snow cones when you were a little kid? We used to pack the snow in plastic buckets, take it inside and scoop it into cups and pour nearly frozen kool aid over it for slushies. Then we tried mixing kool aid powder and sugar right into the snow outside. It was hard to get our concoction just right and our faces and hands would get died red and blue and be nearly frozen but it was delicious and fun.

I hope it snows enough to go sledding in Hyde Park. You ever sled on those round plastic saucers? My grandsons and I sled down the long hill in Hyde Park on them, until I am too dizzy from the darn thing spinning to stand up. Then the old man goes and sits in the car and watches the boys. Kids have no bodily thermostats. Just let them have fun and they are unaware it is cold. We seem to lose that as we get older.

Can you skate? I have tried to ice skate. I can after a fashion. I can ass skate very well. I do that on purpose. Really. It is called ass skating. I did not fall down. I am ass skating. Propulsion is the only problem with ass skating really. It is hard to make your butt wiggle enough to get going. This is why you start out on your feet then proceed to sit down and ass skate. It is NOT falling down. It is ass skating and I’ll have you know it is harder than it looks. Try to steer through a crowd of ice skaters when ass skating and you’ll see what I mean. If it gets cold enough I may gather the grandkids and go ass skating at Corby Pond. I’ll let you know about it. Someday you may even want to try it. I have to warn you though. You will need your butt rubbed after your first session of ass skating. I, of course, being the considerate guy that I am, always volunteer to take care of that for Renee as soon as we get home.

Downhill Ho!

Downhill Ho!

Slippery Slope

Slippery Slope

Orange Flyer

Orange Flyer

December 21, 2008 Posted by | family, humor | , , , , | 2 Comments

Christmas Poem:From Loss to Joy


Dixie Huffman Elledge, my wife, died suddenly of a heart attack on September 26, 2004. The holidays were very hard that first year after her death. It was empty knowing Dixie wasn’t there, our kids grown and gone onto their own lives, and that Russ and Amanda, my son and daughter-in-law, that I’d moved in with when Dixie died, were moving to Omaha after the first of the year. It made the Christmas season empty for the first time in my life…

Merry Christmas My Love

This season of joy

That fills the hearts of everyone else

Leaves me empty,

It threatens to destroy

What sanity I have left –

There are sons and daughters

And grandchildren, too

But none of them removes the pain

I feel when I think of you

Lying beneath the shriveled grass.

I am the one who cries

While the rest of the world laughs,

Merry Christmas,

Merry Christmas, my love.

Dec 24/2004

Christmas was hard that year, but family was close, and as harsh as it sounds sometimes, life goes on. In my heart I knew Dixie didn’t want me languishing in grief, but looking to new challenges and as she used to say – “get on with it”. God has plans for each of us, and I started a new job in January which I threw myself into. It was there I met my present wife and partner and friend of friends, Renee, and my wonderful step-daughter Sadie Marie.


This was actually my first choice for a header for the template Word Press provides, but I decided it was a bit too busy maybe? Anyway, its lil’ Sadie, my baby girl. She likes to chew on grass as much as Grandpockets does. Grandpockets?

Well, I gave all the grandkids nicknames, Kolby became Koal Bucket, and Jaycee is Jay Cheese, Lucy is Loosey-Goosey, Nathan is Naytron, etc. And they started calling me Grandpockets. I do not know why. Because children are as silly as me? It’s not like I wear britches with overly large pockets and grand designs on being a walking closet or anything, but the name has stuck with me and now its as second nature as Chuck or Charles. Go ahead. Call me Grandpockets and I’ll answer. I like it better than Wrinkly, or Bald Top, or Stuffy-Old-Guy to name just a few they could have come up with.

So, if I have a message in this dash from sadness and grief to rebirth and joy, friends, it’s just this –

Hold your family close,

Tell em you love em


Tomorrow you might not have the chance.


December 21, 2008 Posted by | family, Poetry & Art | , , , | Leave a comment