Tom Mollies #97


Little kids misconstrue grown up words in the most curious ways.

When I was five or six, my Mom and her neighbors would toss all of us kids in the back of the station wagon and head to the drive-in theatre for $1 per car movie night. We were instructed to go to sleep under a blanket and be quiet while the mommies enjoyed their film. Of course, Nosey Parker had to peek over the seat from time to time. One night the scene on the huge screen depicted (or rather implied, it was the 1950’s after all) a woman being raped. Several Mexican gardeners stood around helplessly, one of whom was holding a yard rake. In my child’s brain, the words rape and rake were inexplicably interwoven. It wasn’t until I was eighteen that I realized rape rarely involved landscaping tools of any sort. For years I refused to help my parents do yard work…

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