Have you ever thought that you and your family might be driven out of your community? Or worse, being tarred and feathered, then forced out of town, as was done in days gone by? The thought of that happening actually occurred to me, in regard to a couple of incidents that took place about 28 years ago.
Setting the scenario
My daughter was dating a fine young man at the time by the name of Mike Graybill. And it just so happened that his father, Larry was the highly respected pastor at the Woodbury Church of the Brethren.
Of course, those facts alone only contribute to part of the plot in this story. My daughter, similar to all members of my family, was of Eastern European (Slovak/Polish) descent and raised in a Catholic household. Our ancestors' lineage and customs were not widely shared or practiced by most residents in the Cove, a fact that figures in to a later part of this saga.
Betting
One Friday evening, my family, including my two daughters and their boyfriends at the time (Mike and Ian) went out for dinner at the Carriage House in Bedford. There, some of the boys ordered hot wings. (And, I must interject here, that what follows isn't related to my ancestors nor their customs one iota.) Before we knew it, a bet was made between Ian and Mike as to who could eat not only the most, but the hottest wings. Wes Fix, owner and head chef, graciously took part in the boys' bet as he explained he could go well beyond the heat that each boy might be able to consume and tolerate.
Well, pardon the pun, but the contest got heated early on and neither guy wanted to lose the bet. The winner has long been forgotten - at least by most of us. What remains in everyone's memory though, is the fact that Mike got rather ill during the evening after the meal. He actually mentioned to me a few days afterward that he contemplated going to the emergency room at Nason Hospital in Roaring Spring that night.
Worse the next morning
As expected by those of us who have experienced eating spicy-hot foods, one's suffering may continue into the following day. Mike's mom, Sharon, received a phone call the next morning at work from Mike indicating that, "the hot wings hurt as much or more coming out, as they did going in."
A worry in our household
For the next few months, my wife and I worried immensely about that episode. We wondered what the Graybills thought of us, the bet, and the fact that I both permitted and promoted that competition in its entirety. And I, not involved in the contest, clearly didn't practice what I preached.
Bingo and booze
Later that summer, we discovered that our worries shifted somewhat, but never diminished in the slightest. Mike and Ian were invited by our daughters to attend a Potchak reunion with us in the town of Portage, PA.
There we were. games, a variety of refreshments, ethnic foods and Polish music were all part of a festive summer afternoon. Mike won a game of Bingo that day. And wouldn't you know it - his prize was a set of six whiskey shot glasses, of which he proudly took home.
Later that evening, I wondered again how the Graybills perceived my family, the reunion games, and our relatives. I also fell asleep that night wondering how hot tar might feel on my skin. Then again, if I was tarred, I could have always borrowed Mike's bingo winnings, and have a few shots of whiskey to numb my pain. A better idea today might be to seek Mike's medical advice as he is presently a medical doctor.
