The Ballad of Mothra and Big Boy: Step 105

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Since I was spending most of my time at John Marshall Junior Senior High School I naturally developed closer friendships with my classmates who lived in the neighborhood. As I practiced every afternoon with the sophomore football team I would notice the two Jeffs performing their roles on the varsity squad. Although Jeff M had achieved the envious status of becoming one of only a handful of sophomores to make it onto the varsity squad, Jeff P stood out more because as team manager he didn't wear a football uniform.

Jeff P loved the sport of football but was physically ineligible to compete due to some sort of anemia type blood ailment he had been diagnosed with while he was still in grade school. In an effort to be one of the guys and not regarded as an egghead due to his intellectual gifts, he decided he would hand towels to the jocks and win them over with his offbeat sense of humor.

Whenever I went to his house I always felt it had all the trappings of a normal household. His mother was always friendly, although she was often in the other room folding laundry, watching television or reading a book. His younger brother who would leave us alone happened to have the same name as my younger brother even though he spelled it differently. I considered both his demeanor and name as plusses in establishing a relationship.

When his father came home from work he was aalways jovial and friendly. He would say hello to Jeff and me, grab a beer, and lay on the couch to watch TV. Except for arriving home in the evening and grabbing a beer, since firefighters changed shifts in the morning and neither of my parents drank alcohol very often, it wasn't too different from home. Still, Jeff said Mothra, what he called his mother, and Big Boy, what he called his father, were having marital problems due to her sneaking drinks and his exhaustion when he got home.

I'm not sure if he shared as much with Jeff M or anyone else, but he showed me where his mother hid bottles under the sink, behind boxes in the laundry cabinet, and between towels in the linen closet. It didn't make any sense to me since the liquor cabinet displayed a full supply of spirits from which to choose, and there always seemed to be beer in the refrigerator.

Mostly, we hung out in the basement and swapped stories. However, Jeff P's favorite pastime, and I have to admit I liked it a lot too, was getting out the rolls to use with the player piano. Among the wide variety of music that cranked out of the upright was everything from Dixieland jazz to modern show tunes. Jeff, who had a good voice and sang in the high school choir, would sing along with the music.

One night when his mother was in the other room Jeff P sneaked some Southern Comfort and poured it in highball glasses for us to drink. He got out one of the rolls, stuck it in the piano, and handed me a sheet with lyrics on it. As the music poured forth he started sining the ballad of Mothra and Big Boy, and coaxed me to sing along.

We put the roll away along with the sheet of lyrics and walked a mile and a half to the Pizza Wagon laughing and singing this song. Finding Hector standing watch at the back door, Jeff attempted to teach him the song. Hector mumbled some of the lyrics, but mostly laughed. It's hard to say whether he was laughing at the words or at the two of us. Actually, if someone had come along and listened not knowing whom Mothra and Big Boy were, they most likely would have found the song quite amusing.