Rural
Mythology
The web has over 470,00 citations related to urban myths. You can go to many of
them and find out that some wild story you've heard is in fact bogus. But
the ones on rural mythology deal more with literary matters and information
about Norse gods, not crazy stories from the heartland. So I had no place
to go to prove to my husband that I hadn't completely made up one of the
classic myths of my childhood. I had to rely upon another source -- actual
people, rural people.
"Don't cross your eyes because if someone comes up and hits you in the
back of the head they will get stuck that way". When you're little
the thought of people lurking around waiting to find someone with crossed eyes
so they can make it permanent doesn't strike you as illogical. So, last summer
at a 4th of July party, with my husband near by, I asked and sure enough, every
one at the table back in my rural homeland had heard that one.
Then they began to offer other ones they had heard. Mostly passed along by
older siblings and often created by older siblings. One woman
shared that her older five siblings convinced the "little ones" that
if you planted rabbit poops the Easter bunny would grow there. So the
"little ones" did and watched every day for a fuzzy tail or floppy
ear to emerge from their bunny beds.
My older brothers created more havoc with their mythology. One told me that if
you picked a mole you would die. So as I scratched my little arm one day in the
first grade, off came a mole and I went into a complete panic. I couldn't tell
the puzzled nun why, but I insisted that I was very sick and they should call
my mother right away. I didn't want to die without her. I also couldn't
tell the nun why, because even at 6 I knew that there was a small chance that
this, like the other 500 crazy things my brothers had told me, was not true.
My mother came to get me and
I don't even remember what happened after that. She probably explained things
quietly to me and not so quietly to my older brother.
Some rural myth is regional
and some familial and some just crazy stuff older kids make up to control the
little ones. One from my oldest brother kept me out of his room. According to
him there was something called white lead that he used with his oil paints and
if you breathed it, it would dissolve your liver. As with much mythology there
was a grain of truth in it, but to a 6-year-old it was gospel. And so when I
even got near his room I held my breath and washed any skin that might have
touched anything near his room.
Then one evening, as my
mother made divinity candy, I took a drink from a little glass, set it down and
it foamed. Not realizing that this had been used to measure egg whites for the
candy, I was certain I'd been poisoned and went into a panic (yes-another one).
This time my mom, who was a nurse, thought that I was going into shock. So they
rushed me to the doctor for a shot of something to knock me out. My brothers
no doubt got another "explanation". And I grew up to become a child
psychologist.
Lots of rural mythology had
to do with health and the workings of the body. We didn't have as many
sidewalks to worry about as our urban cousins, but even we heard, "Don't
step on a crack or you'll break your mother's back". Certain members of
the community were excellent at predicting the weather by the feeling in their
joints. But usually we heard about their predictions after the weather event
occurred, "Yup, I knew it was going to rain, my elbow was acting up."
I grew up with four older
brothers and remember many dinners at which my father told the boys that eating
the skins from the baked potatoes would "grow hair on their chest".
Even as a little one I understood that this was a metaphor for being strong and
healthy, yet I never developed a taste for potato skins.
My mother had her own brand
of mythology. Some also had to do with health and appearance. But a lot of hers
turned out to have more than a grain of truth. She said that she thought she didn't have
wrinkles because she didn't hold grudges. Notably, she lived to be 90 with a
sweet, smooth face. She consciously tried to maintain a pleasant expression and
with that pleasant expression often went the pleasant response, "That's
nice." When my mother went on automatic pilot mentally, it was
comforting the way she continued to say, "that's nice" to information
she could no longer process.
I admit that I have absorbed and passed on to my children some of this
mythology. Not the part about crossed eyes, stepping on cracks or picking
moles. But they have had to listen to my encouragement of a pleasant expression
and positive response. They tease me about it now, but someday when I go
on automatic pilot mentally, I know that they will be glad for my smile and my pleasant
response. Some myth is truth.